Devotion
by Lycorise
Summary: The Queen and her Battlereeve, through thick and thin, in love and war. [Queen Ayrenn/Female Altmer]
1. Chapter 1

_The heavy irons are thick and tight about her wrists. Too tight. They cut and scrape and dig into her skin, drawing fresh blood from barely-formed scabs; at times they sting nearly bone-deep, at times she doesn't feel the pain at all. They pinch off blood circulation at certain angles, especially when the chains are drawn apart again, lifting her knees from the wooden platform, forcing her entire body to hang by the wrist irons and balance on her awkwardly bent legs._

 _She is drained. Throat parched, lips cracked. Her vision is dark, half-obscured by encroaching unconsciousness, suddenly turned sharp from steel-clad knuckles ramming into her cheek. What little breath she has is expelled in a single exhale, and she doesn't bother lifting her head. No need to waste energy that isn't there._

 _As always, her detachment irritates her captor, who grips her jaw between thick fingers typical for a Nord barbarian, and forces her to look at him. She does, but not fully. She sees his bushy brows and malicious glare, smells the stink of cheap ale on his stale breath, but refuses to let him etch his ugly image into her mind. His mouth twists into a grin when he recognises her ploy, and his fist crashes into her other cheek, still holding onto her jaw so she feels the full impact of the blow._

 _"Look at you," he rumbles, deep and patronising. "What a useless state you are in." He shakes her head in his hand, as he laughs to himself. "It's almost a disappointment, really. To find the 'superior' high elves to be…such glass cannons." He lets go of her head, and paces in a short circuit before the platform._

 _"From what I hear, you are a great warrior on the battlefield. About that, I do not know, and do not care. All I care to know is this: take away your magic, and all that is left of you…is but a pathetic Altmer bitch." He ends his little speech with a savage backhand, the metal of his gloves slicing deep into her cheek._

 _"But do not fear. I have found one last use for you, before you join the rest of your comrades in the dirt where you belong."_

 _She gasps involuntarily at the sudden wave of agony bursting in her chest, washing over the rest of her body like a heavy tide crashing on the shore. She grits her teeth in shame and impotent anger, hating the look of victory on the Nord mage's face, illuminated by the sinister red of his own magic. The pain releases her suddenly, and she slumps from the chains, panting ragged breaths, before her chin is jerked upward again._

 _"On second thought, perhaps I won't kill you." He raises a fist, its crimson glow flaring to a blinding intensity. "I will let you live, but not before I take your magic away…for good."_

 _"No," she tries to say, but nothing passes through her lips._

 _His fist collides into her chest, and before she can grunt from the impact, a supernova ignites in her very being, scorching her from within. Her eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a scream, soundless and breathless and useless–_

–until it rips through her throat in a hoarse cry.

Her head swims from the upward motion, all that is in her vision is darkness. But something is different – she is sitting on a soft surface, legs covered in smooth fabric, instead of being suspended from thick chains. She lets her hands fall, grasping at the covers, but a movement to her right draws her full attention, and paranoia flares. She throws out a punch instinctively, electric green swirling about her fist, caught by a sturdy hand enveloped in azure blue. Attack foiled, she strikes with her free hand, caught effortlessly by the other again. Panic cascades through her, and she releases a blast of energy from her captive fists, knocking herself off the side of the bed.

Her knees hit the cold stone floor, still-glowing hands trembling as they rest on the ground, trying to support her weight. Something light brushes over her cheek, and she flinches violently away from it, shoulder knocking into the nightstand when she throws her weight to the side.

"Sielaire."

Her breath catches at the smooth intonation of her name, and she realises she'd screwed her eyes shut. Forcing herself to raise her gaze, Sielaire is rewarded with the sight of Ayrenn – her wife, her safe harbour. This time, she doesn't move away when Ayrenn strokes her cheek with gentle fingers.

"Sie. It's me," Ayrenn murmurs. "You're home. You're safe now."

Sielaire jerks her head in a nod, more out of habit than understanding, and Ayrenn knows. She runs her fingertips across Sielaire's forehead, gathering the strands of hair covering her face, and tucks them behind her ear. Then Ayrenn holds onto her arms and pulls her ever-so-gently back towards the bed. Sielaire follows, feeling the tremors in her body more acutely under Ayrenn's touch, as she climbs back in bed on her knees, shuffling forward at Ayrenn's urging before sitting down.

"Sie, darling. Focus on me."

She doesn't look up, and she doesn't have to. Keeping her gaze down, Sielaire focuses on their joined hands as instructed, staring at the steady blue magic around Ayrenn, and the unstable green of her own, flickering like a flame on a candle. Blue grows brighter and stays at a brilliance just before it hurts their eyes in the darkness, then dims slowly, turning into near-invisible wisps around Ayrenn's hands. The blue grows again, and Sielaire forces herself to join, her green flaring in erratic sparks as it accompanies blue in holding its brightest intensity, then hesitating before it fades down to the barest glow.

Ayrenn leads her in silent meditation, a patient guide marking the rhythmic rise and dip in magic, waiting for Sielaire to follow; her wavering steps grow firmer with each repetition, the slow pulse of green and blue in harmony, until she is able to let go. Sielaire's hands finally grow dark when she releases the magicka she has built inside herself, feeling empty but oddly calm. A hand cups her cheek, and she looks up at Ayrenn's soft gaze.

"Feel better?" She gives a small smile when Sielaire nods, more certain this time.

Sielaire drops her gaze as Ayrenn runs gentle fingers through her mussed hair. She stares down at her arms, her open hands free of shivers, and she is…better. Better than the times when she had destroyed furniture with a reflexive spell upon waking from her nightmares. Better than when her body was wracked with such violent tremors, that Ayrenn had to cast a spell to calm her down.

Sielaire closes her eyes; the stillness of the night, the glow of moonlight, the warmth of Ayrenn's skin on hers, settles into her mind. She feels placid, too placid, as if she has forced the memories, the source of her nightmares deep down where she cannot reach, where she doesn't want to reach, where it'll stay until she lowers her guard, and surge forth to consume her when she least expects–

"Sielaire, love." Ayrenn presses her palm to Sielaire's cheek, drawing her attention back. "Stay. Stay with me."

Breaths grown a little deeper, Sielaire nods again, feeling her throat constrict when she searches Ayrenn's eyes, finding nothing but love in her gaze. "I'm sorry," Sielaire rasps.

"Why?"

Sielaire doesn't look for the words – she already knows she can't find them. Ayrenn catches her stray tears with a thumb, and guides Sielaire's head onto her shoulder, holding her wife tight. Sielaire doesn't say more, and Ayrenn doesn't pry. She pulls Sielaire back down on mattress, arms wound firmly around her partner, stroking her back soothingly. Sielaire buries her head under Ayrenn's chin, fingers digging tight into the fabric of her partner's shirt, taking comfort in her solid presence.

But Sielaire keeps her eyes half-open, refusing to succumb to sleep even as Ayrenn's breaths grow deeper and slower. She is safe, but only like this, awake and guarded.

* * *

Sielaire throws herself into her duties in a desperate bid to drown out the shadows of the recent past, ignoring Ayrenn's warnings and pleas not to, until her condition starts bleeding over. She is more irritable, snapping at her subordinates whenever they make a mistake, surprising them with the sudden change from cool stoicism to a hot temper. Her restraint in the sparring ring deteriorates – each blow and strike carries force enough to _kill_ , regardless of her intent. Her body runs on pure, frayed instinct, determined to cut down any potential threat before it reaches her, and she only stops in her warpath when she injures a fellow Battlereeve severely enough to keep him in the hospital for a few weeks.

Ayrenn steps in with an official order then, forbidding her involvement in military affairs, until she is judged fit for duty by a healer. Sielaire doesn't protest – she has no right to, not after the accident. But the emptiness of her days becomes near-maddening, leaving Sielaire alone with nothing to do but feel the inexorable press of memory in the back of her mind, stealing her breath and senses with its sheer proximity. She fears her sanity may be the next to go.

A habit develops in the charging of magicka in her body, an involuntary reaction when Sielaire feels threatened by the remembrance of events she wants to forget, armouring herself in the security of her magic's sharp green glow. But it starts to drain her nerves, and the sight of Sielaire with visible magicka swirling about her is not a comforting one. At Ayrenn's behest, she takes to regular meditation by herself, charging and releasing her magicka rhythmically, until she is able to let go fully.

It is slow, but Sielaire gradually finds it easier to loosen her tight grip over her magicka, until she understands that even after she sheds her armour, she is safe. She is her own person, her own master. Her magicka is hers, and _hers_ alone. Ayrenn smiles, soft and proud, the first time Sielaire catches the green glow pulsing along her arms, and dissipates it without difficulty. She feels lighter, having lifted a considerable weight off her partner's shoulders, but Ayrenn's worry doesn't end.

"I told him that we needed a distraction so I could slip into the temple unnoticed. So Raz goes off and catches a guar from out of _nowhere_ , rigs a makeshift harness with the belts of his armour, and starts taking off the rest of his clothes–" Ayrenn's languid laugh dies away. She stops telling her story, but her companion doesn't notice.

Sielaire's eyes are fixed in an unseeing stare at the wine glass in her hand, and she jumps when Ayrenn touches her thigh. Relaxing her tight grip on the glass, Sielaire blinks up at Ayrenn, trying and failing to feign innocence. Her gaze twitches away reflexively, looking over the Queen's private garden terrace, as she takes a long draught of wine and gulps it down with difficulty. Sielaire sets her glass on the table, pulse quickening when Ayrenn scoots over the sofa, closer to her. She keeps quiet when Ayrenn grasps her hand, fingers squeezing her lightly in the silence that follows.

"I'm sorry."

Perplexed, Sielaire looks to her wife, whose composure gives nothing away.

"I shouldn't have deployed you to Cyrodiil."

"No," Sielaire says immediately, incredulous. " _I_ volunteered. There was…little you could do to stop me. Not in front of everyone else."

Ayrenn bites her lip, a deep frown creasing her forehead. There's little room for argument on her part – it is an indisputable fact that she can't take the blame for Sielaire's decision, not officially. Still, the desire to do so stays on Ayrenn's countenance for a few more moments, before it gives way to resignation.

Sielaire raises her hand, presses a kiss to her knuckles. "You don't have to bear the responsibility for _my_ own actions, Renn. And…it doesn't matter to me."

Ayrenn relents with a tilt of her head, wearing a slight smile which melts away under Sielaire's lips, reciprocating her tender kisses wholeheartedly. "I'm here for you, Sie," she whispers. "I'll always be here for you."

* * *

The war in Cyrodiil escalates again after the brief, unspoken truce which followed the end of the Planemeld. Their troops become active once more, and Sielaire twists her healer's arm for permission to return to active duty. It is given with reluctance, and Ayrenn takes the news dubiously, though she isn't surprised. Sielaire has been itching to do _something_ for a long time, and Ayrenn has no choice but to accept it – the Dominion needs its best to win this war.

Sielaire performs admirably – as expected of the Battlereeve – and she manages to keep her discomfort under a tight lid, clutching at her sword or belt when her hands start to tremble, channeling her agitation into keen bloodlust at the sight of the Ebonheart flag. She becomes a terror to the Pact soldiers in particular; the sight of the 'Altmer demoness' is a promise of misery to come, ending in a battlefield soaked with Pact blood.

The victories she wins drive her ever onward; each wound she sustains is yet another kindling which feeds her burning desire for vengeance. She doesn't stop, and picks up even more momentum when she faces the very Nord warrior who had captured her before. His rough, hardened face hidden beneath his bulky helmet irks her deeper each time she faces him, and each time she fails to take his head in battle makes her want to scream the injustice to the skies.

And now, she is given another reason to scream.

Sielaire secures her armour along the length of her arm, and has picked up her sword from the table when someone walks through her tent's entrance without ceremony.

"Put the sword down."

Gritting her teeth, Sielaire turns to face Ayrenn – _Queen_ Ayrenn, dressed in battle armour and standing tall as she issues the order…which Sielaire disobeys. She moves to tie the sword to her belt regardless, and is forced to stop when Ayrenn marches over, clamping onto her wrist with a sturdy grip.

"You will _not_ fight this battle," Ayrenn intones, squeezing her wrist tighter when she tries to break free. "Sielaire, listen to me. You have fought the last four battles, and the healers have told you to rest _four_ times." She touches Sielaire's abdomen, where bandages hug her body snugly beneath her leathers. "You cannot push yourself any more–"

"I _can_ ," Sielaire growls through her teeth.

"Really." Ayrenn's voice grows colder, then a burst of light fills Sielaire's vision as the Queen releases a surge of magical energy – not to harm, but just enough to blow Sielaire off her feet.

Stumbling backwards and gripping onto the table for support, Sielaire takes a pained, ragged breath as she bends over, feeling the pull of numerous wounds on her body, threatening to reopen.

"And I wasn't even trying to kill you."

Anger surges to the surface, but her glare loses its fire when Ayrenn lifts her chin, forcing her to meet that soft gaze. Placing a hand on Sielaire's shoulder, Ayrenn guides her backwards to sit on the edge of the bed.

Kneeling before her, Ayrenn clasps Sielaire's hands together. "I know why you want to fight, Sielaire. And I understand. But please, shut out your own heart. Trust me, and stop listening to yourself, just this once. Trust me, and _listen_ to me. You need to let this one go. There will be many more battles for you to fight after this, but only if you let this one pass. _Please_ ," she begs, and Sielaire aches at the quiver in her voice. "You cannot take any more."

Protests well up in Sielaire's throat, but the leaden weight of her muscles and the pleading expression on Ayrenn's face sways her. She swallows thickly and nods, visibly relieving much of Ayrenn's tension with the simple action. Sighing under her breath, Ayrenn tilts her head up to give Sielaire a kiss, soothing the warrior's wounded pride.

"Thank you," Ayrenn says, a warm smile on her lips. "Shall I inform your soldiers–?"

"No, I will." Sielaire stands, amused when the Queen helps her up. "I can move well enough on my own, Ayrenn."

"I know," Ayrenn croons. She slings both arms around Sielaire's neck, closing the distance for another kiss. "And soon enough, you'll be in fighting condition again, hm? Then you can have free rein to tear that bastard apart."

Sielaire can't help but snort. "You know how to charm your way into a girl's heart."

"Only yours, dearest."


	2. Wanderlust - 1

**Context:** The Aldmeri Dominion has won the war, crowned Ayrenn as Empress, and appointed a Dominion-loyal High Chancellor to act in Ayrenn's stead when she isn't physically present in the Imperial City.

* * *

"Ayrenn–"

" _Sielaire_ ," Ayrenn cuts in, reflecting her partner's exasperation. "Did I not tell you that I wanted a vacation when we returned home?"

"Yes, but not like that."

"Like _what_ , Sie? Free and easy?"

"Exposed and risky. No." Sielaire holds both her hands up in a rare request for Ayrenn to keep quiet, so that _she_ can speak. "Ayrenn, you can have a vacation, yes. But with your guards, _not_ alone."

"You know very well that I can take care of myself," Ayrenn retorts, crossing her arms and frowning back at Sielaire, from where she stands behind her desk. "I'm not some soft, delicate queen who can't protect herself, Sielaire."

"But you are still the queen–, no. You are the _Empress_ of Tamriel, now. We cannot afford to make light of your safety."

"That's right, and we're not," Ayrenn replies much more airily than Sielaire deems appropriate for their current discussion. "That's why I'm bringing you along. A one-woman army should be enough to ensure my safety, no?"

Sielaire bites back a growl, resting her head in one hand as she fights down her growing impatience. "Your Majesty," she intones, and Ayrenn rolls her eyes at Sielaire's newfound tactic to remind the Empress of her station – usually in discussions regarding her safety, such as this. "I do not deny our skill in combat, but I must remind you that as Empress–"

"Sielaire, spare me the lecture," Ayrenn cuts her off again. "It's final: I will either travel with your company or go alone, leaving you – the Empress Consort, High Kinlady Sielaire – to deal with the Thalmor _and_ the Elder Council by yourself. It's your choice."

She is left staring at the Empress with mouth agape, arguments forgotten in her stunned silence following Ayrenn's threat of throwing her to those thrice-damned wolves. Sielaire looks back into blue eyes bearing the confident glint of victory, and knows that she has lost the argument.

* * *

 _How did she ever get herself into this predicament_ , Sielaire wonders as she walks along the paved road, acting as the sole protector for the Empress strolling beside her at complete ease. Her hand comes to a rest on the hilt of her sword, wary eyes tracking a group of Bosmer workers passing by them, until Ayrenn catches her gaze. The slight crease between Ayrenn's brows and the curve of her lips betray her amusement, and Sielaire sighs quietly at the sight.

 _Ah, yes. She fell in love, that's how._

"Relax, dear," Ayrenn murmurs, kneading at the tense muscles of her back. "Or you'll break that rigid spine of yours."

Sielaire's fingers flex around the sword hilt once, before letting go. She scans the woods around them – with the Bosmer workers gone, they are the only ones left walking up the path leading into town. It's relatively safe, but it would be careless to assume there is no danger. Wildlife can–

"Sie."

She heaves an audible sigh this time, tearing her eyes away from the woods to look at Ayrenn. "I can't relax," Sielaire mutters.

Though they have adopted the guise of common travelers to blend in, she still feels on edge and overexposed; Sielaire's lightweight leathers are a poor substitute for the sturdy protection of her pauldrons and bracers, and the only item she has retained from her usual ensemble is the adamantium blade hanging from her belt. By all standards, she is equipped poorly to serve as the Empress's only bodyguard – and it doesn't help that her charge is even less protected.

Ayrenn has opted for cloth instead of leathers, wearing a shirt and trousers beneath a dark, well-cut coat that falls to her thighs. She bears no weapons, trusting in her own magic to keep her safe in times of danger. Her bearing is still very much that of a noble – complemented with their wedding band on her finger, a ruby pendant, and their most important protection on this trip: an enchanted earring.

They share a single pair, wearing one each. Its illusory enchantment disguises them by altering their appearances; for Ayrenn, it turns her pale blonde hair black as night, her blue irises now a dark, earthy shade. Sielaire's earring lightens her auburn hair to a golden hue akin to wheat, and changes her verdant eyes into a steely grey – everything she'd wanted to look like in the past, just to stop the false whispers of mixed blood flowing through her veins. Now though, she feels so…unnatural with the pale colours.

"Darling, think about it," Ayrenn says, drawing her attention back. "No one goes around looking for the Empress in their midst, do they? Much less suspect anyone of being _me_ in disguise. Unless, of course, someone has followed us from the palace, _which_ ," she adds quickly when Sielaire opens her mouth. "You and Raz have ensured is not the case. So please, do me a favour, and relax."

Sielaire just stares as Ayrenn massages her nape with a sweet smile. When her partner is obviously unmoved, Ayrenn moves her hand down and hooks it around Sielaire's elbow. "See? We're just a regular couple on the road together, aren't we?"

Ayrenn leans in to kiss her cheek, and Sielaire can't help but soften under her partner's fond gaze. Such a simple display of affection in public has always been a luxury they can rarely afford, and Sielaire sometimes forgets that romance doesn't take place exclusively behind closed doors. She feels a twinge of regret at the thought, and suddenly, the prospect of such freedom seems…all the more enticing.

Tugging Ayrenn close, Sielaire presses her lips to her partner's temple, wearing a small smile to match Ayrenn's bright grin.

Perhaps having some private time to themselves isn't such a bad idea, after all.

* * *

To ease Sielaire's nerves at the prospect of traveling alone, Ayrenn has suggested that they take a jaunt to this town near Alinor, just to prove that they'd face little trouble while staying incognito; and if something _does_ happen, the capital city is close enough for them to beat a hasty retreat, before Ayrenn comes to any harm. Even so, Sielaire has made their spies comb the town for any unsavoury elements before they made the trip here, just to be safe.

And _even_ then, it takes Sielaire a while to let her guard down after passing the gates and mingling with the early afternoon crowd in the market. It is nearly as busy as the one in Alinor, due to cheaper rates at the inn, which attracts more travelers to town. Though this helps the two of them blend in easily, it also means the presence of more rowdy and suspect characters. So Sielaire stays alert and sticks close to Ayrenn, keeping an arm circled around her waist as they meander down the streets.

The only time Sielaire gets distracted, is when she spots a performing troupe in the town square. Not that she has a fascination with the acrobats' incredible feats, but she spots a few old friends among the performers – Fighters Guild members with whom she had fought and bled and caroused together, all those years ago. She smiles to herself, watching them somersault off a stack of heavy crates, leap through rings of fire, and put on lightning-quick combat demonstrations that hold their admirers in open-mouthed awe. Even after all these years, they still haven't stopped volunteering with this troupe whenever it stops by, using it as method for recruiting new guild members. Obviously the guild master's skepticism did nothing to douse their enthusiasm, nor their penchant for showing off.

Sielaire turns to her right, lips parting to speak before freezing, when she comes face-to-face with a confused Khajiit instead of her companion. The beats of her heart skyrocket as she scans her immediate surroundings, unable to find Ayrenn's face in the crowd around her. She shoulders her way through the audience and breaks free, panic rising by the minute as she strides from stall to stall, searching but not finding the one she seeks.

When she starts to turn down a street leading away from the market, a sudden grasp on her arm forces her to stop, and she grips the hilt of her sword immediately, spinning around to find–

"Sie," Ayrenn says, brown eyes flickering to the hand on her sword. "Are you alright?" She touches Sielaire's cheek, peering at her partner in concern as she strokes faux-blonde hair; it dawns on Sielaire that Ayrenn thinks she is having a panic attack – sensory overload isn't an uncommon occurrence for her, since the war.

"I'm fine," Sielaire breathes, pulling Ayrenn into a one-armed hug. "I just thought I'd lost you."

Ayrenn laughs gently. "The only way you'll lose me, is if you _want_ to, darling."

"I never want to."

"I know," she croons, before taking Sie's hand and tugging her to the side of the road, allowing a cart to pass by. "Here, try this." Ayrenn raises her hand, in which sits a small collection of sweets on a banana leaf. She picks up a dark cube of what looks like chocolate, dusted generously in cocoa powder, and delivers it into Sielaire's mouth.

Grey eyes widen as the smooth, creamy richness of the chocolate melts over her tongue, and Sielaire lets out a low groan of satisfaction.

Ayrenn smiles, wiping away the powder on her lips with a thumb. "Good, isn't it?" At her partner's nod, she leans in with an impish gleam in her eye. "Not as good as me, I hope."

Sielaire nearly chokes on the chocolate.

* * *

The day passes without incident, and mostly with Ayrenn keeping her hand linked with Sielaire's, as a reassurance that she won't wander off and send her partner into another bout of panic. They return to the palace at sundown, settling last-minute issues that have cropped up in their short absence, before curling up in bed for a good night's rest. And at dawn, they leave the luxurious comfort of the palace behind, riding away from the capital city on horseback to begin their travels across Tamriel.

Their first destinations are within the southern regions of Summerset; they will head down from Alinor towards Sunhold, then turn east to the city of Dusk, before riding up north towards Shimmerene – where Sielaire's family lives. It is an important stop in their itinerary, and one of the reasons why Ayrenn wanted this vacation. Despite their private wedding years ago, Sielaire still hasn't written to her family about the affair, planning to leave it until after her coronation, when her union with the Empress will be made public. Ayrenn has insisted on seeking her parents' blessing for their union, in spite of Sielaire's protests that _she_ of all people doesn't need their blessing to do anything.

In truth, Sielaire isn't keen on explaining to her parents why they were kept in the dark about their daughter's marriage. And she doubts that any explanation will serve to stem her mother's endless tide of nagging anyway, so she decides to stop worrying about it needlessly, focusing instead on the present – and more importantly, Ayrenn.

Sielaire can never truly relax while on the road with her Queen, despite Ayrenn's constant reminders for her to unwind. It is too ingrained in her, the need to keep her partner safe, to be alert for anything that may bring her harm. But that doesn't mean Sielaire is unable to appreciate the serenity of their walks by the beach, the intimacy of holding Ayrenn in her arms as they ride the same horse under a starlit sky, the unbridled joy in Ayrenn's laughter as they run through the forest, and the unhurried softness of her kisses, slow and confident in the promise of a lifetime together.

 _Just what has she ever done to deserve the love of one so beautiful_ , Sielaire wonders.

"You're smiling to yourself again."

Sielaire blinks as she receives a peck on the lips, and glimpses Ayrenn's impish smirk, before her partner dives below the water's surface again and swims away. She must have fallen into another bout of reverie, long enough for Ayrenn to sneak up on her. Huffing under her breath, Sielaire swims towards the side of the spring pool, and finds a jut of rock wide enough to lounge on, the clear water reaching up to cover her chest nicely. She watches Ayrenn swim laps around the pool, sometimes going close enough to bathe under the waterfall, before ducking away again with an agile twist of her body.

Closing her eyes, Sielaire loosens the tense muscles in her shoulders and leans back against the rock, a contented sigh passing her lips. She clears her mind and listens – to the constant stream of water, the occasional splashes from Ayrenn, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the song of birds and crickets in the distance. The calmness of the night lulls Sielaire into a peaceful, meditative state, with the cool embrace of water about her–

A nearby splash snatches her attention, and Sielaire jerks her head up, getting a brief glimpse of pale blonde hair before her eyelids flutter shut at the soft press of lips against hers. She gazes up at crystal blue eyes when they part, arms circling around her wife's bare body as Ayrenn sits in her lap.

"This might be the first time I've seen you so laidback since we left the palace," Ayrenn says.

"I wonder why."

Ayrenn chuckles, playing with the loose strands of red hair framing her face. "Better enjoy this while it lasts. You won't get this much time to yourself once you sit in the throne beside me."

She breathes a drawn-out sigh. Though Sielaire's status as consort hasn't been made official yet, she's had the… _honour_ of accompanying Ayrenn to a number of meetings with the Thalmor and Council. To put simply, Sielaire would much rather fight another war than face the politicians again. On the battlefield, at least, she knows clearly who the enemy is, and doesn't have to worry about who is hiding a knife behind their smile. Sielaire takes a small comfort in knowing that military affairs will be her primary domain, but she is resolved not to let Ayrenn fight the battle of words on her lonesome.

"The price I pay for love," Sielaire murmurs.

"It is not too high, I hope?"

"No." Sielaire smiles gently, stroking the small of her back. "To be with you, no price is too high."

Ayrenn clicks her tongue. "Such honeyed words. It's a wonder you were even available when we first met."

"Maybe I was waiting for you."

"Maybe you're the reason I came back." Ayrenn kisses her – soft, then deep, and breathtaking when her tongue slips in, grazing the back of Sielaire's teeth, and hooks on her upper lip before pulling away. The brief delve leaves Sielaire wanting more, and she wears a knowing smile as she gazes at her lover. "Sie," she says, voice low and silky smooth, fingertip tracing the straight line of Sielaire's nose. "Have you ever made love outdoors?"

Sielaire raises her brow at the question, and a slow blink is her only answer.

"Come on, spill." Ayrenn shifts in her wife's lap, so she is straddling Sielaire. "In all your years of travel before you met me… Have you done it?"

"What do you think?"

"Playing coy, are we?" Ayrenn purrs, trailing her fingers along Sielaire's jaw, up to her ear. "I think…that you have. You would've given me a straight answer if you haven't."

"Really."

Ayrenn hums and gives her a not-so-chaste kiss. "So tell me," she murmurs against Sielaire's lips. "Have you?"

"Just once. When I was in Skyrim with the Fighters Guild." Sielaire's voice wavers ever so slightly when Ayrenn's lips caresses her ear.

"Oh?" Ayrenn says, her warm breath sending a flush to Sielaire's cheeks. "Let me guess… It was cold."

Sielaire's hands start roaming from Ayrenn's hips, as she surrenders an answer, "Yes."

"Who was it? A strong, hot-blooded Nord woman?"

"Yes." She glides her fingers along Ayrenn's back, tracing the few scars on her skin, and the definition of her muscles beneath. Sielaire's other hand slips lower, feeling Ayrenn's muscles tense as she slides slowly up the inner thigh.

"Was she beautiful?" Ayrenn's voice dips into a hush when Sielaire's fingers tease at a wetness not of the spring's waters.

"I don't remember." Sielaire ghosts her lips over Ayrenn's, then lowers her head to kiss down the slope of her partner's shoulder. She sits forward, locking an arm around Ayrenn's back as her kisses trail lower on her wife's chest, and takes a breast into her mouth. A soft whine escapes Ayrenn's throat as Sielaire swirls her tongue around the nipple, then looks up when Ayrenn grips onto the wrist between her thighs.

"Sie," she breathes.

The corner of Selaire's lips curve in a smirk as she continues to massage Ayrenn's entrance, dipping in briefly with tantalising pressure, and draws a groan from her partner when her strokes remain shallow. Ayrenn's hips starting rocking against her partner, trying to prod Sielaire into giving her what she wants, but all she gets is a heated gaze and that _maddening_ smirk.

" _Sielaire_ ," Ayrenn growls, sending a shiver down Sielaire's spine. She grinds firmly against Sielaire's fingers and palm, her own hand gripping at the dark locks of her lover's hair, pulling her head back in a show of authority. " _In_ me. Now _._ "

"Is that an order, Your Majesty?"

" _Now_."

Sielaire smiles, stoking the fire burning in Ayrenn's eyes, and returns the hard kiss gifted upon her lips. She sinks two fingers easily into Ayrenn, swallowing her wife's moan as Sielaire strokes her inner walls, thumb rubbing her clit in slow circles. Ayrenn's kisses are insistent, desperate, as she rolls her hips in time with Sielaire's languid thrusts. She groans in frustration when Sielaire's pace doesn't change, and takes her partner's bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard. Not enough to break skin, but her intent is clear.

" _Sielaire,_ " she intones huskily.

"You wanted me _'in'_ you, no?"

"Stop fucking with me." Ayrenn's grip in her hair tightens. "And _fuck me_."

With a nudge of her thigh, Sielaire guides Ayrenn's legs farther apart and drives her fingers knuckle-deep in her partner, Ayrenn's lips falling open in a soundless gasp. Clamping her arm tighter around Ayrenn's waist, Sielaire angles her wrist and finds a sweet spot that makes her partner's back arch in pleasure. Sielaire kisses and nips up from Ayrenn's heaving chest to her exposed throat, drinking in each intoxicating whine and moan of her name. She bites at Ayrenn's chin, then claims her lips in a reverent kiss, feeling Ayrenn's breaths come shorter and quicker, her muscles trembling under Sielaire's firm hold.

Calling forth a stream of magicka, Sielaire concentrates the benign force into her fingers, a continuous flow culminating in pulses at her fingertips, drawing sharp gasps as Ayrenn grips her tighter, desperate for release. Sielaire curls her digits and _twists_ , answering Ayrenn's strangled cry with a groan when nails rake deep across her back, in the wake of her partner's orgasm. Ayrenn's head falls forward to rest against hers, and she gazes quietly at her lover, cupping her cheek and stroking her flushed skin with a thumb.

"You're so beautiful," Sielaire whispers, a soft proclamation, and Ayrenn's eyes flutter open as a lazy smile parts her lips.

"And you, my dear," Ayrenn murmurs breathlessly. "You are simply _, infuriatingly_ , delightful."


	3. Wanderlust - 2

Sielaire lingers before the stall, stroking Zephyr's neck as the mare nuzzles into her cheek. This one's always been more affectionate than her war horse, and though she appreciates the extra love, Sielaire has found herself wishing that Zephyr's goodbyes are more…succinct. Where her war horse is content to send her off with a short nicker and swish of the tail, Zephyr needs prolonged physical contact, and desists only after receiving a good amount of pets and scratches.

When the mare finally turns away to get comfortable in her stall, Sielaire makes her escape, joining Ayrenn where she stands akimbo outside the stables, gazing at the apple orchards opposite the wide, paved road. Directly before them are the workers' lodgings and barns built along a rough stone path, from which stretched on countless rows of apple trees. Sielaire's family owns the best orchards in southern Summerset Isles – along with a good number of cider mills and houses – which has allowed them to live very comfortably in the countryside. Maybe even more so now; Sielaire squints at the farthest corner of the orchard, wondering if they've expanded the fields since she'd last left.

"Your home is beautiful," Ayrenn says, when Sielaire takes her hand and leads her down the main road.

"It's a farm."

Ayrenn cocks her head. "Your point?"

Sielaire just shrugs and tugs at Ayrenn's arm, heading up the path towards her house – or at least, what she recognises as her house. The cottage she remembers has grown larger, with a third floor sitting atop its original two; it looks more like a villa now, with the addition of a west and east wing, and a fresh coat of white paint to go with the dark grey roof tiles. When Sielaire reaches the door, she tries poking her key into the lock and – unsurprisingly – discovers that it doesn't fit.

"This is what happens when you don't go home for eight years," Ayrenn says.

"I was busy fighting your war. Hush." Sielaire rings the brass doorbell, hearing its magically amplified echo travel through the building. "And it's seven years."

"Seven years, ten months. It's practically eight."

Sielaire raises her eyes skywards, and Ayrenn smiles, bumping their shoulders together. Two long minutes later, they hear footsteps approaching the door; Sielaire takes a breath and squares herself up, while Ayrenn massages her back, trying to ease her tension. The door swings open to reveal a well-kept, middle-aged Altmer matron, whose long blonde hair is worn in a loose ponytail. The cut of her cheekbones and jaw, though softer, makes it clear where Sielaire got her looks from.

The matron freezes at the sight of Sielaire, mouth falling open slowly as she tries to find her words. "You," she says with obvious struggle. "You–, you _rascal!_ "

Despite what sounds like a chide, she grabs Sielaire and yanks her into a tight hug, continuing to speak into the taller woman's shoulder. "How dare you not return even _once_ in what, ten years–?"

"Seven."

"It's as good as ten. Look at these!" Her mother pulls back, pointing at the beginnings of crow's feet at her eyes. "I got these just _worrying_ about you for the last _ten_ years–"

"Seven…" Sielaire mutters as her mother stops abruptly, her eyes having landed on Ayrenn. Sielaire holds her breath when she continues staring at Ayrenn wordlessly, wondering if she recognises their ruler out of disguise–

"And who is this?" Her mother's demeanour eases quickly into a more refined manner, in the presence of a stranger.

"She's my…partner, Ayrenn." Sielaire pauses while her mother tilts her head, brows furrowing lightly. "Ayrenn, my mother. Lirinwe."

"Ayrenn?" Lirinwe titters, leaning towards the newcomer conspiratorially. "You wouldn't happen to be the Queen, would you?"

"Well…"

" _Empress_ , mom. She's the Empress now," Sielaire clarifies, and it seems the emphasis in her tone hasn't tipped her mother off to Ayrenn's identity just yet.

"Oh, Queen, Empress, whatever." Lirinwe waves a hand dismissively. "Whoever's wearing the fanciest crown."

Ayrenn's eyes are wide, lips parted in a captivated smile – she looks absolutely _taken_ with the older woman. If Sielaire didn't know better, she'd think Ayrenn is falling head-over-heels in love.

"Come, dear." Lirinwe guides Ayrenn in with a hand on her shoulder. "I'll show you to Sie's room so you can put down your bags."

"You still have my room?" Sielaire says drily, meeting the ecstatic glance that Ayrenn shot her; the damn woman was in paradise.

"In its old place, yes. You're still our daughter, my dear. We won't throw your things into a dark corner just because you've been gone for ten years."

"Seven."

* * *

To Ayrenn's delight and Sielaire's exasperation, the Empress's identity remains a mystery as the day goes on, and Ayrenn seems more than happy to play along. She receives Sielaire's father's compliments gracefully, giving an easy laugh when Erelmir declares she is able to claim the throne through virtue of her beauty alone. Sielaire can't help but let her face fall into her palm at his words, and groans quietly into his shoulder when Erelmir laughs heartily, welcoming his daughter home with a firm embrace.

Her younger brother does little to embarrass her, owing to the naturally quiet disposition he shares with Sielaire. But Virano, too, doesn't recognise Ayrenn and treats her courteously, as if she were any other. But their impromptu charade comes to an unexpected end when night has fallen, and the family is seated around the dining table, waiting for the arrival of their youngest – and tardiest – family member.

Rilenya's hasty entrance can be heard in the loud thuds of the door, and her hurried footsteps approaching the room. She strides through the doorway, offering her apologies as she smooths a hand over her strawberry blonde hair, then freezes when her gaze lands on Ayrenn. Sielaire lowers the glass of wine from her lips, watching a myriad of emotions play across her sister's face, before Rilenya sinks into a deep bow.

"Your Majesty," she gasps. "I offer my _deepest_ apologies for my tardiness. I didn't know–"

"Rilen," Virano says, turning around in his seat to face her. "What are you doing? Stop embarrassing us, you loghead–"

" _Me?_ Embarrass you? No, what are _you_ doing!" Rilen thrusts a hand out at her father, who's sitting at the head of the table. "Why is the Empress not sitting there!"

Sielaire takes a long draught of red wine as three pairs of eyes turn towards Ayrenn, who keeps the easy smile on her face.

"Ayrenn?" Erelmir asks.

"Oh, _Divines above_ , dad! You don't just address the Empress by her name!"

"Now, now," Ayrenn cuts in, as Sielaire drinks more wine beside her. "There is no issue, really. I don't mind–"

Apparently that is as good a confession from her, for the entire family shoots up from their chairs and sinks into deep bows, uttering apologies like an unharmonised choir. Sielaire doesn't bother bringing the glass away from her lips, already three-quarters done with her wine.

"Please," Ayrenn says, and they fall silent at the single word. "I'm here as your guest, not as the Empress. It is quite alright to treat me as you have done so far – as one of your own."

"You're still–," Erelmir stammers. "We shouldn't."

Sielaire's empty glass meets the table with a clink as she sighs at her family, who stands stone-still before the table. "Don't want to disobey the Empress's wishes now, do we?"

Ayrenn casts her a bemused glance, and picks up the nearest decanter to refill her glass. Sielaire meets her sister's eyes, nearly breaking into a smirk when Rilenya appears ready to burst a blood vessel at Ayrenn's act of courtesy. Her simple action and Sielaire's composure, though, seems to convince them of the sincerity in Ayrenn's request. The family inches back into their seats, though Sielaire has to give her father a subtle nod before he retakes his chair at the head of the table.

"Rilenya." Ayrenn smiles when the younger woman snaps to attention. "How did you recognise me?"

"Your Majes–" The formal address dies on Rilenya's tongue at Sielaire's pointed look. "Um, I was in the palace years ago, when you'd just returned. We met while you were selecting dresses for the coronation banquet."

"Ah, yes! I thought you looked familiar – you were that sprightly little thing following your mentor around, weren't you?"

A hint of pink touches Rilenya's cheeks as she nods.

"Ayrenn, if I may ask," Lirinwe says. "Why are you here? Are you really…" Her eyes slide away from Ayrenn to rest on Sielaire, who can practically see the day's events replay in her mother's pale irises. "Sie…"

Ayrenn looks to Sielaire, who tilts her head in the affirmative. "I do apologise for misleading you before, Lirinwe, but there is a reason why I am visiting." She takes Sielaire's hand under the table, wearing a gentle smile as she continues, "I am here to ask your blessing for my union with Sielaire."

The family freezes again – this time with Rilenya choking on her own wine – and Sielaire has to refrain from reaching for her refilled glass. Instead, she grasps at Ayrenn's hand just a tad firmer, feeling her partner's fingers tighten around hers.

"Union," Erelmir repeats. "You mean, marriage?"

"Yes."

Silence falls over the room, before Erelmir speaks again. "Sielaire? You are…agreeable?"

"Of course I am," Sielaire finally joins the conversation. "We've been wed for five years."

The fork in Lirinwe's hand falls to the tablecloth with a dull clatter.

"And you've never bothered telling us in those five years?" Rilenya asks incredulously. "Not once in your letters did you think to go, _'Hey guys, I'm alive, still not coming back. Oh, by the way, I'm married to the bloody_ Empress! _'_ " She catches herself at the end, muttering a quick _'sorry'_ for her language.

"I didn't want to expose you to the Veiled Heritance," Sielaire replies. "If anything had happened to me, or Ayrenn, I don't want them to turn on you as well. Or even use you as leverage." She holds her sister's gaze steadily, until Rilenya lowers her own eyes, conceding the point to Sielaire.

"So…" Virano says quietly, breaking the silence before it can settle again. "If you two are married, and you're the Queen, then that means Sie is…"

"She is High Kinlady, yes," Ayrenn confirms. "Even if she's had to keep the title quiet until now. And I would really love to gain your approval before the coronation ceremony, when she will be crowned as Empress Consort."

Erelmir exchanges a glance with his wife, then curves his lips into a graceful smile. "Of course, Ayrenn. So long as my daughter is happy…" His gaze moves to Sielaire, who nods.

"I am."

"Then I am happy, as well. For the both of you."

* * *

Sielaire closes the door behind her and, upon noticing the looks of worry on her parents' faces, knows that something is…off. No child, she suspects, has ever been summoned to their parents' room for a mere light-hearted chat.

"Sie, honey…" Lirinwe starts, but doesn't seem to have the energy to go on.

"If this is about Ayrenn," Sielaire fills in the silence for her. "I want you to know that I am committed – _fully_."

"So it seems."

"Then what is the problem?"

"The problem is that it seems…too good to be true," Lirinwe says, calm and slow, as if navigating a field of rune traps. "Sielaire, look. Ayrenn seems like a wonderful woman, I don't deny it. But I'm worried that this all might be some sort of…ploy?

"A ploy at _what_ , mother?" Sielaire asks. "What could she possibly seek to gain by marrying someone who's not even nobility?"

"Well, technically…" Lirinwe drawls.

"Technically we _descended_ from nobles, yes, but you are merchants now. And I, a soldier. There is nothing she can gain by marrying me, and yet she has stayed with me, even after it has hurt her standing with some of the Thalmor."

"And isn't that worrying?"

"Yes, it is," Sielaire admits. "But she stands firm, and so shall I – _with_ her."

Lirinwe looks to her husband, who takes the baton, and speaks gently, "Are you ready to do so?"

"Yes. Whatever I have to do, I will."

Erelmir chuckles under his breath fondly. "Really? If I remember correctly, you could barely sit still during a single trade negotiation, and now you're going to dive feet-first into politics? It's like barely learning to swim before diving into a pool of snakes."

"Trust me, I know the feeling." Sielaire crosses her arms, frowning slightly at the memory of the 'snakes'. "But I won't change my mind. I will stay by Ayrenn, for better or worse."

Her parents share a lengthy glance, and she softens, letting out a breath. "I love her. That I have stayed with her for the past five–, no, _eight_ years should be proof enough that I won't leave her side."

" _Eight_ years?" Erelmir repeats with a smile. "So you were married for five, and courting for three before that?"

"Yes."

"Well, at least now she admits she's been gone for more than seven years," Lirinwe says. "And we know _exactly_ why she's been staying away."

"Because there was a war?" Sielaire deadpans, rolling her eyes as Lirinwe touches her cheek.

"You know, if I weren't your mother, I'd be more touched by how hopeless a romantic you are."

"A shame. Really."

* * *

Sielaire flicks her fingers, and a luminous green whip cuts through the air, neatly slicing an apple's stem. She catches the fruit as it falls, calling forth a bit of water to wash off its bright red skin, then looks around at the call of her name.

"Sie!" Virano says reproachfully. "No magic! I told you, the apples need to be handled with love and care!"

She stares flatly back at him, keeping eye contact as she bites into the apple, flicking out another whip with her free hand. The apple falls onto the grass, and even from this distance, she can hear Virano's frustrated growl as he pantomimes strangling her, before stalking away with a pout.

After Sielaire made it very clear that she has no interest in the family's orchards – much like Rilenya, who expressed a passion for tailoring instead of apples – Virano stands to inherit the business from their parents. Luckily, he's more than happy to do so; Virano very much loves the orchards, even though Sielaire thinks he can get _too_ protective of them at times.

She brings the apple up for another bite, only to have it diverted from her mouth when Ayrenn grabs her wrist, and tugs it over for a taste.

"Mm, so good. I should arrange for some deliveries to the palace."

"You already do. The cider," Sielaire reminds her, twirling a hand idly to cut down three apples in one go.

"I mean the apples themselves," Ayrenn replies, though it's obvious her attention is no longer on the conversation. She raises her own hand, sending forth a sharp force akin to a blade's edge, which splits the air and severs two apples neatly from the tree.

Sielaire cocks a brow at Ayrenn's pleased expression, then waves at the tree again; four apples drop, and only one lands in the bushel. She locks gazes with Ayrenn, neither of them even bothering to look at the apples as they take turns slicing the fruits down, quicker and quicker, until–

"Race you to the end!" Ayrenn shouts, then sprints down the row of trees, throwing her magic out at each one she passes, leaving apples raining to the ground in her wake.

Sielaire chases after her, with whips flashing from both hands as she ignores Virano's voice behind her, crying her name in dismay. Hitting her stride after the first two trees, Sielaire picks up even more speed until she overtakes Ayrenn – or she would, if her wife hadn't lunged right at her, shoving her to the ground.

She scrambles to her feet, lips parting in a grin at Ayrenn's mischievous laughter as she runs after the blonde, ramming into her side as well. Ayrenn stumbles, then leaps onto Sielaire's back, wrapping both arms around her neck _tight_ , before throwing her to the side and sprinting ahead again. Sielaire follows, dodging and returning pushes, then catches Ayrenn in her arms and digs her fingers into Ayrenn's sides, tickling her mercilessly until she is left kneeling on the grass, writhing and laughing breathlessly.

When Ayrenn is bent over with her head nearly to the ground, Sielaire takes off again, though she only took two wide strides before a gust of wind hits her lower shins, tripping her face-first onto the grass. Ayrenn's shadow passes briefly over her as she wipes the grass from her face, and she snorts at the near-maniacal laughter coming from Ayrenn. She looks up at her wife's back, then throws a hand out, her whip flying through the air to catch Ayrenn's ankle, yanking the woman off her feet.

Ayrenn falls forward and hits the ground with a cry. Sielaire waits for a few moments, her unease growing when Ayrenn drags her hands weakly over the grass, but doesn't get up. Sielaire's mind switches in an instant, hot blood turning to ice in her veins as she sprints to her partner's side.

"Ayrenn," Sielaire says, falling to her knees by the groaning elf. She clasps Ayrenn's shoulder, turning her over carefully – and is greeted with a sly grin. Sielaire's eyes grow wide just as she is tackled to the ground, where she is left lying on her back and staring in disbelief at Ayrenn, who kneels over her victoriously.

"Gullible," Ayrenn croons, tweaking her nose.

Sielaire's reproach disappears against Ayrenn's lips, and she is left helpless as the kiss deepens, leftover adrenaline spiking once more in her veins. She groans at the swipe of a tongue against hers, and pants softly when Ayrenn releases her, getting lost in that tender blue gaze. Laughing soundlessly between deep breaths, Sielaire runs her hand through tousled blonde tresses, before turning her eyes towards the orchard, where her siblings stand among the apples strewn haphazardly all over the ground.

"They ruined my apples," Virano laments, while his younger sister turns her gaze towards the couple still lying on the grass.

"They're going to ruin more than your apples at this rate," Rilenya says, tossing them a wink.

* * *

"Oh, Virano," Ayrenn calls, and Virano stops in his tracks. He catches sight of her, and jogs over to join Ayrenn by the main road. "Have you seen Sielaire around? I couldn't find her in the house or stables."

"Huh." He scratches at his chin, casting his eyes over the orchards. "Well, she won't be with the apples, that's for sure. Not of her own will, anyway." Virano hums thoughtfully, then points towards the north. "Why don't you try there? Follow the main road until you see the river. I have a cabin off to the right, a little ways before the river bank. Maybe Sie's there with the cats."

"The cats?"

"Oh, yeah. The cats she brought back from…who knows where, years ago. Right before she ran off to join the marines, conveniently leaving _us_ to take care of them instead. Damn cats," Virano grumbles. "Tore my towels. Scratched my trees."

Ayrenn bites down a laugh, thanking Virano before leaving him to his own musings. She takes a deep breath, the fragrance of freshly-picked apples bringing a smile to her lips as she walks down the road, passing an eye over the trees and filled bushels sitting by them. The sight, coupled with the past few days she has spent here, reminds her why Sielaire is unwilling to stay in her family's orchards.

On one hand, life on the homestead is quite idyllic, and Ayrenn finds herself appreciating the peace and freedom much more than the rigid confines of the palace. On the other, she can't imagine spending day after day at the orchards, having to deal with apples, apples, and _more_ apples for the rest of her life. Really, Ayrenn thinks she might lose her mind at the mere prospect of it, and understands Sielaire's story of running to the Mages Guild the moment she was old enough.

Still, Ayrenn appreciates the serenity it provides for their vacation, and she walks with light steps all the way to the river, turning right to find Virano's cozy log cabin, along with her wife sitting on its deck…surrounded by a few cats and a large litter of kittens.

Ayrenn pauses in her tracks, the scene before her eyes bringing a smile to her lips. The three grown cats are lazing on the deck around Sielaire, bathing in sunlight and paying the elf no mind. The kittens, however, are more interested in their new playmate, clambering over her crossed legs and knees, climbing up her shirt towards her shoulders, and taking turns to lounge in Sielaire's hold.

Setting down the two kittens in her hands, Sielaire picks up a particularly fluffy one poking about her feet, cupping the little thing in both hands and rubbing her thumbs gently over its belly. She smiles when it mewls and wiggles its paws, then nuzzles her nose into its stomach, making its tail swish in approval. When Sielaire lifts her head, she glances briefly in Ayrenn's direction, then does a double take as the kitten slides off her hands and lands in her lap.

Ayrenn approaches her, wearing an indulgent smile as Sielaire scratches at her nape with a light flush on her cheeks.

"Having fun?"

Sielaire shrugs, wincing when a kitten on her shoulder scrapes at her ear with its little claws. She lowers it to the deck as Ayrenn sits with her amid the mewling lot, pressing a kiss to her cheek. As Ayrenn pulls back, she notices another kitten fast asleep in the hood hanging behind Sielaire's neck, and she huffs in amusement.

"You're such a popular one," Ayrenn teases. "I've to start keeping a closer eye on you."

"They're cats, Renn."

"Cats who love you, apparently." She lifts one in her hands, stroking down its back. "Virano said you were the one who brought them back."

"Just these three." Sielaire points at the grown cats lying near them. "Seems they've managed to breed quite successfully." She pets the grey kitten curled up on her knee, then lowers another kitten that has climbed up to her shoulder. "I thought you were having tea with mom?"

"Yes, but then I missed you." Ayrenn kisses her softly, then adds, "And we ran out of tea." She smiles when Sielaire snorts at her words. "You know, your mother isn't half as bad as you made her out to be."

"That's because you're not her eldest daughter. She doesn't nag at you," Sielaire sighs.

"I know. But I still think she's lovely," Ayrenn says, running her fingers down Sielaire's arm. "I've been thinking. Maybe we could stay here a little longer."

Sielaire raises a brow. "Why? We have quite a few places to go, no?"

"Well, we could give the swamps in Valenwood a pass. I've never really liked them." Ayrenn waves a hand nonchalantly. "Besides, it'd be nice to spend a little more time with family. You haven't seen them in years. It wouldn't hurt to stay longer this time, would it?"

"I guess not," Sielaire admits, though her eyes are still locked with Ayrenn's, searching for an answer which her partner surrenders.

"And I like being with them," Ayrenn says. "They make me feel…nice. At home. It's been a while since…"

Sielaire nods and cups her cheek in one hand, letting her fall silent, assured in the fact that her partner understands. Ayrenn smiles into the gentle kiss that Sielaire presses to her lips.

"I love you, Sie," she whispers.

"I love you too." Sielaire gives her a peck on the forehead, then guides Ayrenn's head to rest on her shoulder.

Ayrenn snuggles close to her wife, whose arms circle around her in a firm embrace, as she hugs Sielaire about the waist. Another smile curves Ayrenn's lips at the sensation of little feet padding up her own shoulder, and Sielaire's hand stroking her arm soothingly, as the kittens mewl and purr in a neverending chorus around them.

If anything feels like home, this must be it.

* * *

 **A/N:** 'Wanderlust' will continue as their travels all over Tamriel, during and after their honeymoon. (Hey they need a honeymoon alright they _did_ just win a war) I hope to write about them visiting each province as I progress in ESO as well, so...this might be interesting


	4. Chapter 4

The Queen watches helplessly as the ogrim battles the agent who bears Rajhin's Mantle, and is incapacitated by a deep slash across its thick throat, before the very same blade is plunged right into its chest. The binding spell that Naemon cast upon them dissolves, and Sielaire rises to her feet in time with Ayrenn, who stares at the ogrim's body as it shifts back into the elven form of her brother. Her dead brother.

 _'Why,'_ Sielaire hears Ayrenn whisper under her breath, before the Queen reasserts control, and dismisses the blame that her agent tries to take upon their shoulders.

Sielaire stands, stoic and resolute, and nods when Ayrenn requests that her battlereeve ensures she remains the Queen, to…take care of anything less that should emerge from the Orrery in her place. The ceremony is thankfully short, and the rapid beat in Sielaire's chest ebbs when the Queen reappears as herself, and recounts her promising vision of the future.

But she doesn't smile, her voice cool as she continues to instruct the Vicereeve on her late brother's funeral arrangements, making it clear that he would be remembered as nothing less than a hero of the Dominion. Pelidil bows to her, then kneels beside Naemon's body with quiet prayers on his lips.

Ayrenn's eyes linger on her brother before she turns sharply away, not slowing down as she passes by Sielaire, uttering a single quiet order, "Follow."

Sielaire obeys without question, but not for long when the Queen climbs the steps, and strides towards the entrance without signaling for the rest of the guards to join her as well.

"Your Majesty," Sielaire says, but receives no acknowledgement. She pulls forward to walk astride the Queen, regarding the hard set in Ayrenn's jaw, the crease between her brows; the dim turquoise glow of magical fires lining the stone halls casts half her face in shadow, accentuating the severity in her countenance.

"Your Majesty," Sielaire tries again. "Shall I call for your escort–?"

A sharp glance cuts off her question, and Sielaire's voice dies as they come to an abrupt halt atop the last flight of stairs, standing before the heavy stone doors of the Orrery's entrance. Sielaire waits, but the Queen doesn't give her an answer, fixing her with a mild glare before moving to push the doors open – which Sielaire promptly helps her with.

Ayrenn barely looks at her. The Queen heads left from the Orrery, taking a secluded path under the shadows of the Elden Tree, before making a turn to walk past the small retinue of guards stationed below her quarters. She doesn't say a word, but Sielaire understands her intent. Catching Urcelmo's eye, Sielaire makes a few swift gestures with her hand, and he nods in the affirmative. Urcelmo turns back to his guards and starts disseminating orders – select Talon soldiers will be stationed along Elden Root's borders to keep watch for a distress signal, which Sielaire will send in the form of lightning towards the sky, should they meet with trouble.

Sielaire hastens forward as they leave the Elden Tree behind, catching up with Ayrenn, who has pulled ahead of her. The Queen seems to have no intent of looking back, her eyes fixed forward as they leave the city and plunge right into the forest, straying far from paved roads. It worries Sielaire, who is keen on _not_ violating the Green Pact by accident, but she is given no time to pause or think, only to hike behind Ayrenn at the unforgiving pace her partner has set.

They move through the forest without speaking, Sielaire kept busy scanning the thick foliage for movement, drawing her blade along with Ayrenn whenever they cross paths with senche-tigers, spriggans, giant bats, and other aggressive natives of the forest. Ayrenn is quick to fly into battle, often before Sielaire can safely cast her magic without harming the Queen. But Sielaire accepts her recklessness, recognising Ayrenn's need for release, and adapts her combat style to cover the openings that Ayrenn leaves, cutting down their adversaries before they can land a single scratch on her charge.

They hold their ground well enough – _very_ well, in fact. But the longer Ayrenn continues on her aimless trek through the forest, the more pertinent it becomes to stop her before they start stretching their luck. Sielaire times herself, starting when Ayrenn's sword swings are a little less wild, and ends when they reach the western border of Grahtwood, on the southern reaches of Gil-Var-Delle.

Sielaire reaches out and grasps onto Ayrenn's arm, forcing her to stop a few paces before the cliff's edge overlooking the sea. She doesn't speak, but it's apparent that Ayrenn has been brimming with unspoken conflict, for she is the first to break the silence without prodding.

"Will you leave me?" Ayrenn asks, and Sielaire cocks her head, unsure of her partner's meaning. "Or will you be taken from me, by a world that is intent on _taking_ from me…" Her voice falters, eyes growing a touch wider as if in sudden epiphany, before she releases a tired breath with a bitter curve on her lips. "…what I threw aside in the first place."

Sielaire aches at the flatness in the blue gaze that turns to meet her eyes, and she raises a hand, gently brushing aside the blonde locks that have fallen from behind Ayrenn's crown. She tugs Ayrenn in, enclosing her in a firm embrace. Ayrenn takes a long, quivering breath by her ear, but says nothing more. She clutches Sielaire tightly and closes her eyes, lowering her head to rest on Sielaire's shoulder.

They don't need words; they know that neither will leave the other.

Ayrenn presses closer to Sielaire, clinging to her sturdy warmth as the air turns chill in the approaching night.

* * *

Marbruk is a city built much like home, its elegant architecture and solid stone walls affording Sielaire a chance to breathe during their stay, even if the sense of security is largely superficial. There is plenty of ill will – hostility, even – directed towards the city, which is viewed by some as an Altmer colony, an alien entity that doesn't belong in Greenshade. Naturally, this puts the safety of the Queen at risk, but it is a game they are well-acquainted with – one they've played since landing on the shores of Valenwood.

Sielaire marches through the city alone, returning the salutes of guards who've recognised her even without the usual squad of soldiers on her heels. She has dismissed them for the day, allowing them to grab some extra rest while she ends her shift with a report to the Queen.

There are two soldiers stationed by the doors to the Queen's residence as always, but after they salute smartly to the battlereeve, one flings out his arm to obstruct Sielaire's path when she reaches for the wooden door.

"Beg pardon, Battlereeve," he says quickly, as Sielaire frowns at him. "But no one is allowed entry. Queen's orders."

"Understood."

The soldier's thin veneer of confidence slowly cracks when Sielaire makes no move to leave. He shares a glance with his partner, then lowers his arm slowly, biting his lip as Sielaire pushes the door open, and strides into the house with a confidence one shouldn't bear when disobeying the Queen's wishes.

Sielaire closes the door behind her and casts an eye over the dark room, dimly illuminated by candles in four corners, and a crackling fire in the hearth. Ayrenn is seated on the bench before the fireplace, with shoulders slumped and head bowed. Her crown, sword, and pauldrons are set on the table beside her, but other than that, she is still fully armoured…despite having retired to her manor over an hour ago.

Ayrenn doesn't move, or even lift her head to look at Sielaire when the battlereeve goes to stand beside the bench, her stony gaze fixed on the fire and the two cats sleeping in front of it.

Sielaire waits, but when Ayrenn makes no move to acknowledge her presence, she tries tentatively, "Your Grace?"

Ayrenn's eyes briefly fall shut, her shoulders rise and fall in a subtle, silent sigh – Sielaire has started on the wrong foot. But the Queen nods, and she continues to give her report.

"Everything is in order, Your Majesty," Sielaire informs her simply, keeping the report succinct. "The Artisan has been apprehended, an agent's been dispatched to Bramblebreach for negotiations, and Razum-dar is currently tracking down the Staff of Magnus. We expect a report from him in a few days."

The Queen nods again at the end of her report, and Sielaire continues to stand at attention when Ayrenn doesn't dismiss her. She waits a few more moments, then sheds her formal demeanour.

"Ayrenn?" Sielaire takes a few steps forward as her ever-present concern rises to the surface, after being suppressed for the entire day in favour of protocol.

Ayrenn has been notably subdued since the incident in the Orrery, and is given that subtle sliver of personal space by her subjects and peers, who've accepted her sombre mien as a facet of her grief. She remained so for the entire journey from Grahtwood to Greenshade, and became more withdrawn after the news of her brother's missing body is delivered in Razum-dar's quiet tone. Sielaire has stuck closer to her side since then, the Queen's placid exterior worrying her deeper than if she'd just broken down in tears.

 _Has she_ , Sielaire wonders.

"Do you think me selfish?"

She blinks at the sudden question, nearly disinclined to believe the Queen has just spoken after her prolonged reticence. Sielaire straightens her shoulders, but the question makes her uneasy, and she shifts on her feet.

"Your silence is answer enough," Ayrenn murmurs, and Sielaire winces on the inside.

"You are…stubborn, self-confident," she says, piecing her answer together as she speaks. "What you want, you _will_ have – no matter the consequence. At times, it does make you seem selfish, yes."

Ayrenn nods slowly.

"Does it bother you?"

"Does it bother _you_?" Ayrenn turns her head towards Sielaire, but only slightly, so the shadows cast over her face makes it difficult to read her expression. "It only makes me all the more troublesome to guard over, no?"

"Yes, it does. But it is a part of you that I've come to accept."

Ayrenn looks up at her then, blinking in quiet surprise. "I'd…expected you to deny that." She stares at Sielaire, who raises a brow in question. "But acceptance doesn't mean that you don't dislike it."

"That…is not my meaning."

"Oh?" Ayrenn tilts her head. "Then you _do_ like it?"

"On occasion, yes. I do," Sielaire relents with a curve on her lips. "It is part of your charm…even if you _do_ drive me up the wall, sometimes."

Ayrenn smiles thinly, but it is fleeting, and disappears as her gaze drops, turning back to the fireplace once more. Sielaire wonders if her gentle tease was a misstep. She hesitates, then moves closer to Ayrenn, attracting a curious glance from one of the slumbering cats, before it returns to its nap.

"Do you feel regret over the prince?" Sielaire asks, at which Ayrenn lifts her eyes to the mantelpiece in thought.

"Regret?" Ayrenn echoes flatly. "Yes, I do. I regret…that he has met his end in such a manner."

 _Still skimming the surface._

Sielaire steels herself, and probes deeper. "And for what has led to his actions?"

"You mean, my snatching the throne away from him?" Ayrenn exposes her meaning with a tired laugh. "No. I do not regret it, and I will never regret it." A long pause meets the end of her declaration, then she adds, "I suppose this is part of my…'self-confidence', isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. He performed his duties as heir to the letter, only to have his prize stolen by his long lost, wayward sister at the very end."

Ayrenn's face remains free of emotion, but Sielaire notices her posture growing slightly rigid.

"But if it's any consolation," Sielaire adds. "I believe you are the better choice for the throne."

A quiet huff. "You're not just saying that because you care for me."

"No."

Whether or not Ayrenn believes her, it seems only time will tell. The Queen's gaze drops again, head bowed in her introspection. Sielaire goes to sit beside her, and grasps her chin gently. There is a brief moment of resistance, after which Ayrenn gives into Sielaire's urging, and finally meets her gaze proper. Ayrenn's eyes are bloodshot, ringed with the shadow of exhaustion, and the reddish, irritated skin where she had wiped at the tears roughly. Sielaire's heart twists at the sight. She runs her fingers through blonde hair, cupping Ayrenn's cheek as her partner leans into the touch.

"You don't have to bear this alone, Renn," Sielaire reminds her softly. "I'm here."

Ayrenn swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as she forces another fleeting smile. "I know," she rasps, pressing her lips to Sielaire's palm. A tear cuts down her cheek as she meets Sielaire's kiss, clutching at her partner's shoulders as she waits for, and is given, another reassuring brush of their lips together. A weak smile graces her face before she breaks into tears, and Sielaire is quick to pull Ayrenn close, cradling her as the sobs grow harsher, holding her firm when she leans heavily into Sielaire's arms.

* * *

After spending months traveling around Valenwood and Elsweyr, returning to the Summerset Isles is perhaps the sweetest relief Sielaire has felt for some time. She knows the islands like the back of her hand, and understands each region's geography well enough that she can plan security detail with Urcelmo ahead of time, dealing with threats before Ayrenn makes passage through the area. Still, she keeps alert with her fellow battlereeve until they have seen Ayrenn safely to Alinor, where they can finally breathe and feel at ease within the palace's walls.

Now though, she wonders if they aren't starting to close in on her.

Sielaire strolls down the grand hallway of the palace's west wing, with half a mind on her destination, and the other half on her finger – specifically, the ring on her finger. It has been a few days since Ayrenn has given it to her, though their promise to each other is still kept secret. They have worn the rings faithfully since then, hidden beneath their gloves; out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. Ayrenn wears that adoring smile whenever they are alone, and Sielaire…just wants her to be happy.

She fidgets with the ring through her glove, nodding absentmindedly at the two soldiers who salute in passing. Has she made the right decision in accepting the ring? It is what they both desire, yes, but she fears that it will hurt Ayrenn's status in future. Their affair is a known secret, and none have batted an eye at it – it's not uncommon for rulers to take lovers, even illicit ones. But for the Queen to actually _wed_ one, who is well below her station…

Sielaire exhales sharply in her frustration, attracting curious glances from the guards standing by the throne room's side entrance.

"Battlereeve, the Queen has ordered–"

"For none to enter. Understood," she says, and is given no resistance when she reaches for the door. After the long months of travel, the guards have come to understand that the Queen's wish for privacy has but one exception.

Sielaire finds Ayrenn sitting languidly on her throne, reclined in her seat with legs outstretched, leaning an elbow on the armrest. The Queen smiles at her as she approaches.

"Yes, love?"

"The dignitaries from Valenwood have arrived," Sielaire says, standing just before the throne. "But I've informed them that the Queen is currently occupied, and that she will dine with them in the evening. In the meantime, their assigned stewards will see to their needs."

"Sounds like you have everything under control," Ayrenn muses. "Why are you here?"

"My duties are well taken care of, and I have some time on my hands. I thought to offer my services to the… _very_ busy Queen."

"How thoughtful of you." Ayrenn chuckles, straightening herself. She gestures at the empty throne beside her, and looks pointedly at Sielaire, who hesitates.

"I…would rather not. Yet."

Ayrenn's smile takes on that impish curve, but she nods, understanding Sielaire's reservation. Instead, she shifts towards the left of her seat, and pats at the empty space beside her. Sielaire raises a brow at her incredulously, and they remain locked in a stare until Sielaire relents. She sits gingerly on the edge of the throne at first, her every muscle coiled and ready to bolt at a moment's notice, but Ayrenn holds her by the hips and guides her backwards. Sielaire squeezes farther into the throne, which is obviously designed for just _one_ royal figure to sit in. But the tight fit doesn't bother Ayrenn, who seems happy enough, and hugs an arm around Sielaire's waist.

"Why are you here alone?" Sielaire asks.

"Thinking." Ayrenn shrugs, then sweeps a hand over the vast hall. "This…feels so empty, all of a sudden."

"You're not in session." Sielaire smiles at Ayrenn's huff and the pinch she receives in her side.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." She smacks playfully at Sielaire's armoured stomach, then sighs to herself as she traces the edges of the armour in silent thought. "Tell me, what was my father like?"

"You're his daughter."

"And you are the one with fresher memories of him."

That gives Sielaire pause, and she fixes Ayrenn with a searching gaze, though her partner's composure gives nothing away. "He was…old, by the time I rose high enough in rank to serve him directly. But you could still see the vitality in him, and there were moments when he behaved as if he were still a young, energetic king. Rather like you, I suppose," she says, peering closely at Ayrenn. "Just less…unpredictable."

Ayrenn laughs softly. "'Unpredictable'. That's a nice way of putting it." She crosses her legs, drumming her fingers on the throne. "Most of my memories of him are…faded, by now. But I still remember how he'd always chastise me for being 'wild' and 'unruly', worried that I'd disgrace the family." Her gaze softens. "And my mother would just smile at me over his shoulder. She never said it aloud, but I think she liked my antics."

She falls silent for a moment, fingers curling into her palm. "Wonder if she liked my disappearing act."

Ayrenn's gaze grows distant, then she blinks at the touch on her cheek, and smiles up at Sielaire. "I suppose it doesn't matter now. All in the past, isn't it?" She sighs, grasping Sielaire's hand to kiss her knuckles, before jumping up from the throne with sudden vigour.

Sielaire rises from the throne quickly as well, and straightens her uniform as Ayrenn stretches her back with a few audible cracks.

"Time to move forward," Ayrenn declares, turning around to face her partner with that regal, confident posture. "I think I shall greet our dignitaries before we dine in the evening. Will you accompany me, my dear Kinlady?"

Sielaire smiles. "Always, my Queen."

* * *

 **A/N:** That part when you're in Greenshade and Ayrenn spends most of the time crying in her Marbruk home... :c

Since there was no hug option, here's my fix-it lmao


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Set in the early months when Ayrenn is still officially pulling the Dominion/Thalmor together, and is traveling through Valenwood and Elsweyr.

* * *

There is a palpable air of excitement within the Queen's entourage as they approach the eastern border of Valenwood – one that is carried by both the Altmer, and the Bosmer guards and Treethanes who've joined them for the journey into Elsweyr. Many are eager to see for themselves the golden sands of the Khajiit homeland, which they've only heard in tales and read in books thus far. Sielaire shares their sentiments, as she is keen on leaving the humid jungle climate behind, and bathe in the lighter air of the deserts. But past experience – gained from her time with the Fighters Guild – tells her that the entourage's initial joy will soon fade after their first full day in Elsweyr.

And it does – though to their credit, it doesn't fade fully. Trailing behind their Queen and a pair of spirited Khajiit guides, the elves still look around at the stretches of desert sands with that gleam of wonder in their eyes, but Sielaire can tell that the arid climate is wearing on them. Without the thick canopy of Valenwood's forests, they are left under the mercy of the harsh sun; metal armours grow warm, and fair skin turns red from overexposure. Some of the Bosmer have taken to hiding under the shadows of their taller Altmer counterparts, eliciting a fair share of laughs among the group.

Sielaire cocks a brow from under her own green hood when her lieutenant complains about sweating under a stuffy helmet all day, but she grants the soldiers permission to swap their headgear for the leather hoods offered by the Bosmer – a simple solution that stopped much of the bellyaching, and saved them from a company-wide heat stroke.

But there is still some adapting to do, mostly in the simple act of walking – because now, their feet sink into soft sand with each step, instead of meeting solid ground. Ayrenn slows their travel pace by a notch in the first few days, to allow her people time to adjust, and Sielaire is grateful. Not that she's had much trouble with moving, no, but because of the reports from Razum-dar's agents. There have been scattered sightings of faint silhouettes tailing the entourage at a distance, and their presence becomes near-undetectable in the inky blackness of night, when only their keen-eyed Khajiit scouts are able to spot them. As they can do nothing without alerting the stalkers, they decide to feign ignorance and travel on, assigning more guards to the Queen in the meantime.

One day, when first light has barely broken over the horizon, Razum-dar pulls Ayrenn, Urcelmo, and Sielaire away from their quiet breakfast, to present the documents his agents have stolen…from the spies of the Daggerfall Covenant. The written plans are rough, as are the drawn maps detailing their makeshift outposts. But their instincts sharpened upon learning the spies' directive: to tail the Queen across Elsweyr, gather more information about the 'Dominion', and if the opportunity arose, to kill the Queen before she gathers enough strength to pose a threat. Even worse, it becomes obvious that there is a traitor in their midst: their travel schedules, guard complements, and other camp information are noted in the documents as well – they need to resolve this issue, _now_.

Razum-dar then proposes a plan; since these documents were taken from a now-dead Covenant spy in the night, it is very likely that their leader is aware of what has transpired, and it would be only prudent to launch an attack on their main camp before they can relocate. He is met with unequivocal agreement, and so starts the company's forced march towards the northeast.

Upon reaching their destination, the civilians are left behind with a respectable force of guards, while the rest launch a surprise attack on the camp – which is already half-packed. The Covenant forces put up a valiant fight against the larger Dominion contingent, but their defenses are broken down quickly. In the back of her mind, Sielaire gives thanks that the Covenant troop is comprised mainly of Redguards and Bretons, bolstered by only a handful of Orcs. Though the Redguards are well-versed in desert combat, the brute strength of the Orsimer would've been more difficult to overcome.

Nonetheless, Sielaire charges forth at the head of the Fury's Wings, the light-armoured battlemages sowing chaos among the enemy ranks with magic and blade, dispersing the Covenant troops and leaving them vulnerable to a head-on assault by Urcelmo's Talons and the Queensguard. With the rest distracted, Sielaire finds an easy path towards the Redguard commander, who dodges her spells nimbly and lunges forward, his scimitar glinting in the sun as it clashes with Sielaire's blade.

He doesn't give her room to maneuver, forcing her to meet his sword again and again, never giving her a chance to cast a single spell. Sielaire finds herself going on a defensive, maintaining a sliver of distance as she evaluates his combat style – and realises how _familiar_ it is. She has seen it before, _fought_ against it before; it is one of the many forms Ayrenn would adopt during their sparring exercises together, a fluid and adaptable form that will break a combatant who refuses to bend.

And so, Sielaire bends – with a flexibility borne of the many times the Queen had broken her. Her first lunge and relentless sword strokes take her opponent by surprise. The Redguard's eyes widen, before his lips part into a grin. Sielaire's blood races as she takes more reckless chances, interrupting the flow of her foe's nimble footwork, feinting with her blade and taking strikes that left both their guards vulnerable. First they tested each other, matching sword swings and kicks; then they threw caution to the wind, and dove into a gamble of speed – swords singing through the air in a bid to cut the other down first.

Ice pours into her veins when Sielaire realises she has made a mistake – the Redguard sidesteps as her sword cleaves the air where he stood, and she throws herself back as his scimitar slices off a section of her scarf. He smoothly follows through, blade swerving midway to cut towards Sielaire, who shoots a bolt of lightning at his hand. The scimitar falls to the ground as he grunts in pain, but Sielaire is given no reprieve when he pounces forth with a dagger in his left hand. Muscle memory kicks in, and Sielaire flips the hilt of her sword between her fingers, clamping it in a reverse grip. She charges forth and slices deeply across his forearm, tearing another shout from him as the dagger drops to the sand beneath their feet. She poises the tip of her sword over his chest, and plunges–

Sielaire catches herself and alters her blade's trajectory at the last second, angling it down so it pierces through the Redguard's thigh. He moves to grip her arm, but she catches his wrist and twists it behind his back, forcing him to his knees. She grips onto the back of his collar, sending a shock spell through his body when he struggles against her.

She looks up, and finds the rest of the Dominion forces cutting down their remaining foes. Two of her Wings approach with ropes in hand, and bind the Redguard's wrists behind his back. He growls at Sielaire for the indignity as she walks around him, but she doesn't pay him any attention as she salutes to the Queen, who is striding towards their captured quarry.

Ayrenn passes an eye over the beaten commander. "I hear you've been looking for me."

He scoffs. "'Look'? No. We already knew where you are."

"So it seems. And yet, your blade is still unable to find its mark."

His mouth twists into a sneer. "Do not gloat too quickly, child queen. I am but the first to seek your life–"

Ayrenn laughs, equal in mirth and disdain. "Don't flatter yourself, Redguard. You are hardly the first, and I have seen more _competent_ attempts on my life. Now, now," she continues, unperturbed when the Redguard pushes up from the ground, only to be shoved back down by the soldiers. "Do not waste your energy for an exercise in futility. You will need it soon."

"For what, an interrogation? You will get _nothing_ from me, you little upstart bitch." He spits at Ayrenn's feet. "Now use those ears of yours and listen well to the only thing I will say. Surrender. Lay down your arms and bend knee to the King, and you _might_ just have a place at his feet, to kiss his boots when he so–"

The rest of his words disappear under the heavy impact of Sielaire's heel against his mouth. His head snaps back from the force of her kick, and a couple of teeth fly from his mouth, but he laughs as blood dribbles past his lips. Sielaire takes a step forward, but Ayrenn holds a hand before her, staring down at the Redguard with cool contempt.

"Take him away," Ayrenn instructs her soldiers. "And make sure he doesn't die before we get a few answers out of him."

The troops salute smartly and haul the Redguard to his feet, dragging him away. Ayrenn catches Sielaire's eye, and nods in a silent request for the battlereeve to follow.

"I want the Wings to sweep the camp's vicinity, and set up a perimeter to keep watch for any deserters," Ayrenn says quietly as they walk along the edge of the Covenant camp. "I expect any spy will try to make an escape soon."

"Understood."

Ayrenn smiles, an audible note of laughter emanating from her throat. "And, Sielaire."

Sielaire stops in her tracks with Ayrenn, and turns to face the Queen with an expectant look, awaiting more orders.

"You fought well."

She frowns slightly, not fully comprehending the praise until she follows Ayrenn's gaze, and realises that she's still holding her sword in a reverse grip. "Oh. I–, thank you. Seems I've learnt something from you, after all."

"Maybe I can teach you a few more tricks," Ayrenn says. "And you can show me some of your own, as well."

Sielaire stares as Ayrenn winks, and saunters away with a sly curve on her lips.

* * *

She jerks her head back as the fist whips the air before her eyes, so closely that she can feel the wind on her skin. Sielaire takes a step back, but pays for her slowness by suffering two swift strikes to her stomach. A foot hooks onto the back of her ankle and tugs it forward, and Sielaire is forced to grip onto Ayrenn's arms – which have reached forward to catch her as well, before she sinks to the ground in a split that she isn't prepared for.

Sielaire hears Ayrenn chuckle, and seizes the opening. She twists her body in Ayrenn's hold and grabs onto her sparring partner's leathers, flipping Ayrenn over her shoulder. But Ayrenn reacts quickly and kicks out with her legs mid-throw, breaking away from Sielaire's grip and landing neatly on both feet. A smirk curves the corner of Sielaire's lips when Ayrenn shoots her a confident smile, and they fly towards each other again, arms and legs meeting in blows softened by the leathers they wore.

It's been a week since their assault on the Covenant camp, and things have been quiet after they've identified the traitor in their midst and sent select agents to deal with the remaining Covenant spies. The Dominion band has traveled east since then, stopping by the cities of Dune and Orcrest, before making their way south towards Corinth. Their pace has sped up somewhat since entering the badlands, where the firmer ground is notably easier to traverse, and the company is more than glad to make up for lost time.

While this is definitely a positive, Sielaire finds herself missing the soft sands of the deserts – feeling the grains fall smoothly through her fingers, and the ground giving slightly beneath her feet. It has brought a special element to her sparring sessions with Ayrenn, when Sielaire worries less about tossing the Queen onto the softer ground. Here in the badlands though, she has to exercise caution again, but it doesn't give her an excuse to slack off in their training.

Ayrenn fights with unyielding force; she adopts an acrobatic combat form that she's learnt during her past travels in Elsweyr, and she slinks around Sielaire's strikes with feline agility. Her swift hand strikes and kicks often take Sielaire by surprise, and hit weak points that hurt the most – and damn, do they _hurt_. Sielaire's muscles ache deeper the longer they circle each other over the dry ground, but she forces the pain out of her mind, focusing instead on the subtle shifts in Ayrenn's feet and shoulders.

After months of sparring together, Sielaire has learnt to read the minute tells of her partner; Ayrenn is flexible in combat, and has no trouble switching tactics mid-battle if it suits her needs. But underneath the deliberate misdirection, there is always a pattern…that's _Ayrenn_.

 _There._

Like an eagle diving for its prey, Ayrenn poises for a lunge – her eyes sharp and calculating as her back foot slides back by just a hair. Sielaire waits for Ayrenn to pounce and, instead of dodging on instinct, she meets the attack head-on. Ayrenn's eyes widen when Sielaire deflects her punch with an outward palm strike to the wrist, and she raises her left arm for a follow-up attack – only to suffer a hard hit on her elbow. Ayrenn's front is left wide open, and Sielaire strikes her on the shoulder and stomach. Ayrenn stumbles back, but before she can recollect herself, Sielaire delivers a sharp kick to the back of her knee, sending her to the ground. In the next heartbeat, Sielaire aims a controlled punch at her throat – knuckles resting against Ayrenn's neck as the Queen looks up at her.

Ayrenn smiles, and Sielaire cocks her head curiously when her partner doesn't move, or say a thing. Just as she starts to lower her hand, Ayrenn grasps her wrist. Gently at first, with that silent gaze still fixed upon Sielaire. Then it tightens as Ayrenn hauls herself to her feet with Sielaire's help, and she heaves a light-hearted sigh.

"Well," Ayrenn drawls, tapping her finger at the scar on Sielaire's lips. "Guess I'll have to learn about this next time."

"I can…just tell you about it now," Sielaire says, though her voice wavers with uncertainty when Ayrenn tugs at the leathers on Sielaire's shoulders and arms, which have slid out of place during their bout.

Ayrenn laughs softly at her suggestion. "No, I'd like to earn the story."

Ayrenn tucks the stray wisps of red hair behind Sielaire's ear, and she freezes, staring wordlessly at the fond smile on Ayrenn's lips…until her gaze is wrenched away by a soldier intruding upon their private sparring ground behind the Queen's tent.

Ayrenn steps away as Sielaire's eyes fall on Earilas – a spirited lieutenant of the Wings. He knocks a fist against his chest and bows his head deeply.

"Your Majesty, Battlereeve. I apologise for the intrusion, but I have a report of possible spies near our camp."

Sielaire frowns, and approaches him. "Tell me."

"The guards have spotted movement near the valley ahead, and it's been moving closer to us periodically, as if trying to–" Earilas is cut off when a sergeant rushes up to him, giving Sielaire and Ayrenn a hasty salute before he speaks.

"Sir, ma'am – I'm afraid it's a false alarm," he says quickly. "Elethir went ahead to investigate, and he says the 'movements' are just from wolves or coyotes."

"Ah." Earilas turns his gaze slowly towards Sielaire, looking sheepish. "Well, Battlereeve…"

"How many times have I told you _not_ to act before you think?"

"Too many. My deepest apologies, ma'am." He bows his head.

Sielaire sighs. "Even if they are just animals, it's best not to let your guard down. They might be hunting, and are hungry. Get the scraps from our chef in case they approach the camp."

"Yes, ma'am!" Earilas salutes again, and hurries away with the sergeant at his side.

Sielaire shakes her head, then turns back to find Ayrenn wearing an amused expression.

"Lucky they're my Wings, not my Eyes," Ayrenn quips.

A huff of laughter, then a slight smile grows on Sielaire's lips. "I'd better go have a look for myself, just in case. With your leave?"

Ayrenn nods. "Of course, Battlereeve."

* * *

As it turns out, their scout's report is right: the movement spotted is merely from a pack of wolves combing the desert for their next meal, and probably had their curiosity piqued by the bright campfires. After making a sweep around the camp's perimeter herself, Sielaire left the guards alone with a warning not to get carried away feeding the wolves, then went off to clean herself up.

Though it's late, Sielaire still feels some residual adrenaline from her exercise with Ayrenn, and the impromptu investigation. So she grabs a tankard of ale from the stocks and settles at an empty campfire opposite the barracks, setting the kindling alight with a lick of magical fire. She's just enjoying the privacy and quiet, gazing out into the badlands and the deserts beyond, when Earilas joins her by the campfire with his own tankard in hand.

He hisses in sympathy as he looks her over – peering at the bruises on her arms left uncovered by her sleeveless shirt. "Wow. She really goes all out on you, huh?"

Sielaire snorts. "If she went all out, I'd be dead."

"I was just talking about sparring, ma'am. No need to get all dramatic." Earilas grins despite her eye roll, then takes a hearty swig of his brew. "You know, normally I'd think someone hates me if they beat me up like that in practice…"

She cocks a brow. "Are you saying she hates me?"

"Oh, on the contrary, ma'am." He leans forward and falls into a conspiratorial whisper, "I think she likes you."

"Does she now," she replies drily.

"Yeah. You're the only one she spars with. And I think you're the one she spends the most time with."

"I'm her guard, remember."

Earilas shoots her an incredulous look. "With all due respect, ma'am. Are you playing dumb on purpose?"

"And are you angling for latrine duty?"

"Oh gods, _ma'am_." He shuffles over the ground to sit closer to her. "I think she _likes_ you. As in, you know."

"Really."

"Yeah. And…" His grin turns impish. "For all we know, she may be marking her territory."

Sielaire frowns at him, but her question is answered when he looks pointedly at her bruises. She clicks her tongue and knocks her fist on his head – hard. "Shut up and go pester someone else, you nitwit."

Earilas snickers as he massages his head, then snaps a mock salute and clambers to his feet. Sielaire watches him greet his fellow soldiers at another campfire, before she is distracted by movement outside the armoury. She shifts her gaze in time to watch Ayrenn enter the tent with something in her arms, then reemerge with her hands empty. Probably returning the training leathers she'd borrowed for their exercise just now.

Sielaire looks over Ayrenn's cotton shirt and leggings, as the Queen runs a hand through her loose blonde hair and walks into her own tent, robbing Sielaire of the view. Her mind wanders back to when Ayrenn was adjusting the leathers on her body, tidying her hair, tapping her briefly on the mouth. Ayrenn's always been very physical, but Sielaire's gotten used to the Queen fiddling with her. It's never intrusive, and it seems only natural for Ayrenn, who values familiarity with those close to her. And if she wants to seek that connection with Sielaire, so be it – Sielaire can hardly find a reason to complain. After all, Ayrenn is a good companion to spend time with.

She recalls Earilas's words, and huffs to herself as she lifts the tankard to her lips. The Queen and her Battlereeve – one not of noble blood, no less. It would be nothing short of taboo.

* * *

As the party makes their way ever onwards to Corinth, they make camp outside a village that sits on the border of Anequina – they are marching across the last stretches of desert, before they enter southern Elsweyr, which is home to woodlands and jungles not unlike Valenwood.

As it so happens, just the night after they've set up camp, the village invites them to partake in a local festival. Of course, Ayrenn grants her people leave to make merry with the Khajiit, but not without a stern warning not to stir up trouble among the villagers.

And so, Sielaire finds herself wandering about the village alone, watching the dancers and fighters put up lively performances, and trying some of the food and drinks being sold as well. She ambles by the stalls open for the celebrations, browsing the trinkets on display until something catches her eye.

Sielaire picks up a compass from the stall's table, peering closely at the intricate engravings on silver, and the golden needle that sits above the etching of two moons – Secunda and Masser – on the compass face.

"Ah," the Khajiit storekeeper says. "You have a good eye there."

"Do I?" Sielaire replies amiably. "I recall seeing a compass of this make, back when I was in a city to the south… Torval, I think."

The Khajiit's eyes grow round. "Torval? You must have been to mother's shop, then. This one thinks she is the only craftsman in all of Elsweyr to make such beautiful compasses. Look." She turns the compass over in Sielaire's hand, pointing at the tiny inscription engraved on its back. "This ode to Jone and Jode, she believes, will always guide whoever holds the compass back home. This one keeps telling her, _'Mother, not everyone who holds a compass is looking to go home.'_ But she never listens."

Sielaire smiles, a soft laugh passing through her lips. "It is a nice sentiment, and excellent craftsmanship. How much?"

The Khajiit's already jovial mood brightens even more at her purchase, and she pushes a small pack of candy into Sielaire's hands, as a little gift to go with the compass – which is priced quite dearly, indeed. But as Sielaire gazes down at the compass in her hand, she can't bring herself to feel any sort of regret–

"That is beautiful."

Sielaire stops dead in her tracks upon recognising that voice, and she whips her head up to discover those familiar blue eyes gazing back at her, from beneath a tan hood.

"Your Majes–" The honorific is promptly muffled by Ayrenn's palm, which clamps over her mouth before she can finish the exclamation.

"Shush!" Ayrenn hissed, glancing around before dragging Sielaire to the side of the street, where there is no one to overhear them. "Don't give me away."

"Your–, you–," Sielaire sputters as Ayrenn's order clashes with her inability to speak the Queen's name, and she gives up trying. "Why are you out here, _by yourself?_ "

"To have a look at the festival," Ayrenn says, as if it were a fact plain as day.

"But you're exposed," Sielaire whispers insistently. "You need the guards–"

"And I have one now." Ayrenn smirks as she grasps Sielaire's wrist. "Will you accompany me?"

"I–," is all Sielaire manages to say, before she catches herself and sighs. "Yes."

Ayrenn pauses at her defeated tone. "Did you have plans?"

"Not really."

"Then…do you mind keeping me company?"

Sielaire gazes back at Ayrenn, then returns her soft smile. "Not at all."

She spends most of the time walking behind Ayrenn's shoulder, shielding the Queen's back with her own body while her eyes scan the crowds milling around them. Despite Ayrenn tugging at her hand in repeated attempts to coax Sielaire into walking beside her, instead of hovering behind her like a bodyguard, Sielaire remains unmoved; Ayrenn is left with no choice but to relent, shooting her an amused glance before turning her attention back to the festival. Thankfully, Ayrenn doesn't join in the dancing or drinking, and finally shows Sielaire some mercy by leading her to the back of the temple on the hill, where they sit with wood-hewn cups of cordial in hand, watching the fire-breathers perform on a terrace below.

"I'm surprised you didn't come with anyone," Ayrenn says, taking a sip of her drink. "I saw even Urcelmo drinking with some of his buddies."

"I prefer having some private time while I'm off-duty."

Ayrenn laughs. "After traveling with such a large company for so long, I understand."

"Is that why you're here by yourself?"

"Partly," Ayrenn says with a shrug. "If I announced my intention to attend the festival, more than half the camp would volunteer to tail me around. I couldn't stand it."

"You sound frustrated," Sielaire observes.

"Is it that obvious?" Ayrenn deadpans, then sighs. "Traveling like this makes me miss the old days. Going wherever I want, whenever I want. To do whatever I want, and on whim. That freedom…might be the most painful sacrifice I've had to make."

"Is it worth it?"

"Of course." Ayrenn smiles. "More than worth it. That's why I even returned in the first place." Her gaze drops to the cup in her hands, and she takes a slow sip as they lapse into companionable silence, watching the fire-breathers give way to the dancers amid a roaring applause. "Tell me, Sielaire. What did you do before you joined the army?"

Sielaire raises her brows at the unexpected question. "I was a hired guard. Before that, I was in the Fighters Guild."

"Ah. Is that where you learnt to fight?"

"Mostly. I had a private instructor before that, but the Guild honed my skills to a sharp edge. It's where I learnt how to fight like this." She pats at her left arm, where the heavy steel bracer of her uniform would usually be, often utilised as a compact shield in combat.

Ayrenn hums thoughtfully. "I assume you traveled with them? I notice you've had less trouble adapting than the rest."

"Yes. And, incidentally, the Guild is how I got this." Sielaire points at the scar on her mouth. "We were on a contract to deal with a cult of necromancers. In the middle of the fight, one necromancer summoned a daedroth, which charged at my friend first. I knocked her out of the way, but its claw tore through my lips. Luckily our healer was quite capable."

"And now, you have a lovely little scar to swoon over." Ayrenn blinks, then averts her gaze hastily, when Sielaire cocks her head. She takes a draught of cordial from her cup, a brief frown creasing her forehead, before she looks over with a playful gleam in her eye. "But really, Sielaire! You told me before I won a match with you."

"I think you've more than earned it."

Ayrenn holds her sincere gaze for a long moment, before turning her head away with a brief smile. Swirling the cup in her hand, she asks, "So, why did you join the army?"

"Because I could fight?" Sielaire says, sharing in Ayrenn's snicker. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go after leaving the Guild, and I spent a few years wandering aimlessly. Thought I'd give the army a try, and…I think I've finally found purpose here."

Ayrenn barks a laugh. "Now your days are spent worrying endlessly over a queen determined to go off by herself."

Sielaire gives her a gentle smile. "I can think of no better purpose."

That seems to give Ayrenn pause, and she stares at Sielaire, before huffing quietly. "The things you say…"

Sielaire tilts her head in question, wondering if she has…somehow given a wrong answer? She wants to ask, but Ayrenn doesn't seem inclined to speak at the moment, and Sielaire busies herself with her own drink instead. She grows restless as they sit in silence, until Ayrenn rests a hand over hers, fingers clasping Sielaire's gently.

"Thank you," Ayrenn says.

She bites down the protest rising to her throat, the instinctive urge to remind Ayrenn that she needn't thank Sielaire for performing her duty. She knows that Ayrenn will refute it, and insist that her efforts deserve to be recognised and appreciated – it is a conversation they've had many times before. So Sielaire smiles and nods simply, acknowledging her words.

Satisfied, Ayrenn gives her hand a squeeze, but doesn't let go. She leans against Sielaire – who has to remind herself to breathe – and they stay there for the rest of the night, in their own quiet spot removed from the rest of the world.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sie: 'lmao taboo'

Sie, months later, naked in the Queen's bed: 'I can explain-'

On the 'Fury's Wings': where Urcelmo and Raz have the Eagle's Talon and Eyes of the Queen, I've given Sie the Wings. They're a division of dragoons, consisting of lightly-armoured battlemages trained in both combat magic and blade. With the lighter armour (leather + winged pauldrons, like Sielaire), they take the least time to mobilise and travel quickly over large distances, and specialise in responding to emergencies. Either to hold it off until the main force arrives, or resolve the crisis if they are able.


	6. Chapter 6

Sielaire is hit by a strong sense of déjà vu, as she stands by the door in the Queen's bedroom, staring blankly at Ayrenn – who watches her with an amused gaze, and flicks a hand to magically shut the door behind Sielaire. She glances back at the door, mind working in a haze until she remembers _why_ she's even there.

"I received your summons a while ago, actually," Sielaire says slowly, eyes roving over to the open windows, noting that the sun has set since Ayrenn sent for her. "Sorry I took so long…"

"It's quite alright." Ayrenn's indulgent smile only grows as she approaches Sielaire, laying a hand on the soldier's bracer. "You look exhausted."

Her eyes follow Ayrenn's fingers as they brush the wisps of hair from her forehead. "I've been training the new Wings after the attack, and we've just retrieved the weapons shipment that the Maormer stole," she reports, gaze growing distant as she ponders the hectic schedule, before she notices Ayrenn peering closely at her, and cocks her head in question.

"So I've heard." Ayrenn traces a thumb gently under Sielaire's eye, where dark shadows sit as proof of her tireless labour. "Tell me, when was the last time you slept?"

"Um, yesterday." Sielaire frowns lightly. "Or the day before. Does that…count as yesterday?"

Ayrenn tilts her head, and raises her brows at Sielaire – obviously entertained. And for some reason, Sielaire hurries to clobber a coherent answer together.

"That attack on our ships – that was three days before, yes?"

" _Four_ , Sielaire."

"Ah. Right, but I _did_ get some rest after that…" She snaps her gaze down to her empty hand, disbelief widening her eyes. "I'm sorry, I forgot to bring a report–"

"Oh dear. You really are a mess," Ayrenn laughs. "You sent me a report this morning, remember?" She waits for Sielaire's slow nod, then goes on, "Besides, I never call you to my chambers for business."

Sielaire nods again, as Ayrenn moves to unbuckle the straps on her shoulders and arms, removing the pauldrons and bracers. "Then I should probably go…and get cleaned up," she says, with a vague idea of heading back to the barracks for a bath. But Ayrenn just hums ambiguously and removes her armour piece by piece, setting them on the dresser by the wall.

When she's done, Ayrenn smiles and gives her a peck on the lips, nodding at the lavatory in the far corner of the room. "Go on. I'll get your clothes."

Ayrenn gives her a gentle push, and Sielaire wanders away, hands working on the drawstrings that keep her bodice tied neatly about her body. Sighing as she enters the bathroom, Sielaire shrugs off her clothes and tosses them onto a counter, feeling a bit of surprise when she finds the tub already filled with clean water – it seems Ayrenn has anticipated her condition. Sielaire climbs into the marble tub thoughtlessly, and shivers when she plunges right into the cool water, cursing under her breath as she slaps at the rune set into the side of the tub. The rune lights up with a red glow, but Sielaire takes the chance to splash some cold water onto her face before it warms.

She heaves another sigh, dragging both hands down her face, realising what she'd said to Ayrenn is true; she _had_ gotten some rest after the Maormer attack on Dominion ships, but only for a precious handful of hours, two days ago. She's been running around since then – putting out fires, fighting off Maormer landing parties, salvaging the wreckages, and overseeing the training of new recruits assigned to bolster the Wings' diminished ranks. It's been absolutely taxing, and her body is just starting to register the heavy wear on her muscles and nerves.

Sielaire doesn't even realise that she has remained bent over with her face in both hands, until a touch on her shoulder makes her jump.

"Relax." Ayrenn smiles when Sielaire turns around sharply. The Queen has shed her silken nightgown, and is wearing an equally soft tunic with its sleeves rolled up to her shoulders.

Sielaire's eyes roam down to Ayrenn's bare thighs and the black underwear peeking out under the hem of her shirt, before Ayrenn grasps her chin, raising Sielaire's gaze to meet her own.

"Focus, Sie." Her tone is coloured with mirth, and Sielaire's cheeks redden as she takes the bar of soap that Ayrenn holds out to her.

As she rubs the soap over her skin, Ayrenn grasps her shoulders and guides her to lean back on the side of the tub. She unties the leather cord from Sielaire's ponytail, gathering the curtain of auburn hair into a loose knot at the back of her head. This isn't the first time they've done this, and Sielaire knows what to expect when probing fingertips feel about her neck and shoulders, but it doesn't stop her pained gasp as Ayrenn digs into the stiff muscles of her nape.

"Hurts?"

"Yes."

"It always does," Ayrenn muses, gently kneading at the knot. "Tell me if you want to stop, alright?"

"Mm."

Sielaire closes her eyes, trying her best to loosen her muscles, only to tense up again with a soft groan when Ayrenn works on a particularly sore point. But she endures the occasional jolt of pain, trusting in her partner, and relaxes into Ayrenn's hands as they massage slowly down to her shoulders, then back up her neck again. By the time Ayrenn's thumbs are rubbing gently at the base of her skull, Sielaire is leaning fully into her touch, on the verge of falling asleep.

She blinks herself awake as Ayrenn lowers her head to rest on the tub, fingers trailing down behind Sielaire's ears, and caressing her jaw. Sielaire stares up into the gentle blue gaze, an adoration that kindles a similar warmth in her chest – and drops a subtle weight into the pit of her stomach at the same time. She has been careful with her affection despite the many times Ayrenn has taken her to bed, held her with a tenderness that she has indulged gratefully, wholeheartedly. She is falling deeper, as slowly as her caution will allow; but as she teeters on the edge, Sielaire finds herself desiring so much more – to fall, body and soul.

Ayrenn smiles as if she knows, and leans down to press their lips together. Once to steal Sielaire's senses, twice to steal her heart. The third coaxes forbidden words to Sielaire's tongue, and there it lies unspoken as Ayrenn kisses her forehead.

She feels a faint disappointment when her partner moves away, but keeps a straight face as she climbs out of the tub, then chuckles when Ayrenn pats her face playfully with a towel. Sielaire's eyes remain on Ayrenn's back as the Queen strolls out to the bedroom, and she quickly towels herself dry, pulling on the shirt and pants laid out neatly for her.

When she moves back into the main chamber, Ayrenn is already waiting for her with a glass of wine. Sielaire reaches for the proffered glass, but doesn't touch it. She clasps Ayrenn's hand gently in her own, and circles an arm around the Queen's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. Ayrenn yields to her lips as she presses deeper, wondering if the Queen knows just how much she…

She feels a quiver in her own breath, and Sielaire breaks away before she loses herself completely. She gives a small smile when Ayrenn looks at her curiously, and she places a chaste peck on the Queen's cheek.

"Thank you."

Ayrenn raises a brow. "And here I thought that kiss was thanks enough."

* * *

Sielaire's stomach grumbles shortly after that, and Ayrenn laughs before sending for a modest midnight snack from the kitchens. It's a light affair with clear soup, fluffy bread, and a choice assortment of cold cuts to assuage Sielaire's hunger – not quite a full meal for the soldier's hearty appetite, but it's enough to satisfy her tired body as surely as a feast, quickly lulling her to sleep as they lounge in a chaise together.

Ayrenn gets distracted from her novel when she hears a soft, unintelligible murmur from where Sielaire's head rests on her chest. She angles her chin down, watching Sielaire fidget a little before growing still, and realises that her partner has fallen asleep. Sielaire must be bone-tired, despite her assertions to the contrary. The battlereeve must've devoted every waking hour to dealing with the aftermath of the naval attack – it is evident from how quickly the rescue operations were completed, thanks to the swift response of her ever-vigilant Wings, and the impressive progress their reconstruction efforts have made since then.

Her dedication is one thing that Ayrenn identifies with, and admires about her – that tireless drive is something Ayrenn carries for the Dominion as well. But there are times when Sielaire's over-exertion worries her, and she has to remind the battlereeve to slow down, and _breathe_. Which, come to think of it, Sielaire does for her as well – stopping Ayrenn's jagged pacing around her study in the early hours of the morning, taking the reports from her hands, and offering to take the Queen's burdens upon her own shoulders.

Ayrenn smiles at the memory of Sielaire's sincere, reassuring gaze, set in that stoic countenance of hers. Does she know how much Ayrenn loves that in her? To see that softness break through Sielaire's reserved demeanour, for _her_ , and her alone? No, Ayrenn suspects she doesn't. The Queen can still see it in her, the restraint that holds her back. Sielaire reacts rather than acts, and when she acts, there is a look in her eye as if she's waiting to be stopped, to be pushed away. Her embraces pull Ayrenn close as quickly as she is willing to let go. Her touches are light and reverent, but never venture far without encouragement. Her kisses remain sweet and chaste, before Ayrenn stokes at her desire, asking for more.

Sielaire is cautious, and Ayrenn understands. For all she knows – in spite of Ayrenn's affections – this may just be a casual affair for the Queen. Something to pass the time, with Sielaire helping to work off the stress laden on her, day after day. And, to be honest, Ayrenn shares the same fear, because that was her intent when she started this relationship; she wanted physical intimacy, and who better to share it with, than a powerful and loyal battlereeve, whose beauty has caught her eye since the very beginning?

She doesn't deny that simple desire, and she's afraid that she _is_ using Sielaire's convenient presence for companionship. But at the same time, she finds herself yearning for more; a want, a _need_ that grows deeper with each passing day. She becomes keenly aware of that empty space when Sielaire is not around, and misses the battlereeve while she's tending to her own duties. And when Sielaire is with her, she feels those playful urges to tease and coax a reaction from the unflappable soldier. She wants to speak with Sielaire, to hear the calm commander's voice adopt that gentle tone with her. She wants to feel the brush of Sielaire's scar on her lips as they kiss, to feel the safety of the soldier's arms around her.

Or, as it is now, to have Sielaire in her embrace.

Ayrenn squeezes her lover gently, careful not to wake her up. Then she sweeps one hand over the room, and a quick breeze extinguishes the candles in their stands, leaving them in darkness illuminated by soft moonlight. She traces random patterns on Sielaire's stomach with her fingertips, then trails up an arm, running the back of her fingers along the smooth skin of Sielaire's neck. Ayrenn caresses her cheek, then reaches up to play with the tip of her ear, imagining how it would twitch slightly at her touch if Sielaire is awake.

She cherishes times like these, when she can be with Sielaire – just _be_. With no expectations, no fevered touches, no idle banter to pass the time. Just the two of them, and an implicit trust that binds them together. If only she could stop time, just to stay in this simple state of bliss forever.

Ayrenn sighs, then shifts under Sielaire to get comfortable in the chaise. She drapes an arm over Sielaire's chest in a loose hug, and presses a kiss to her head.

"Sweet dreams, my heart."

* * *

Ayrenn has been scarce since noon, and Sielaire's suspicions are confirmed when she passes Urcelmo in the hallway, her fellow battlereeve mentioning that the Queen has sequestered herself in her private library. He grimaces when Sielaire asks about the Thalmor meeting, and his reaction is proof enough that Ayrenn had emerged from it with less than a good mood. Urcelmo wears a look of trepidation after learning her intent to seek the Queen out anyway, and he pats her on the shoulder, as though for good luck.

The guards by the doors – already familiar with her – allow Sielaire entry into the library without protest. And though they know _this_ battlereeve possesses…special privileges with the Queen, Sielaire still detects an air of dread about them as she passes through.

The library is, in essence, the Queen's private sanctuary, where she will retreat into when she needs time to herself. It is a space that she guards fiercely, and she allows access only to a precious few friends who, in turn, have the benefit of lounging in what could be the most comfortable and homely den in the palace – second to the Queen's bedchambers, of course. Shelves of books collected from all across Tamriel line the walls, stacked two stories high. Small study tables with writing implements are placed strategically at each wall on both levels. Ayrenn's main study desk is set before the windows, with the Aldmeri crown currently sitting on its dark mahogany surface, bathing in the gentler rays of the late afternoon sun. Near the desk, a fur carpet is laid out on the floor beside the hearth, which remains unlit.

A quick glance around yields no trace of the Queen, so Sielaire walks out to the garden terrace behind the library, and finds her quarry sitting cross-legged beside a flower bed. Her entrance attracts Ayrenn's attention, but the Queen's heartened expression is marred by a frown, when her eyes fall to the report in Sielaire's hand.

"I'll handle this," Sielaire says quickly. Taking lead from Ayrenn's past example, she raises the scroll and tosses it carelessly through the window, where it lands on the study desk.

A bright smile spreads across Ayrenn's face as she lets out a short laugh, and gestures for Sielaire to join her. She waits for Sielaire to settle on the floor beside her, then gives her partner a kiss. "You've _no_ idea how glad I am to see you."

"Did the meeting go that badly?" Sielaire asks, circling her arms around Ayrenn.

"Badly? No, not really. Just…frustrating." She sighs sharply. "Everyone's fighting and demanding a piece of the world for themselves…as usual."

"And you?"

Ayrenn huffs. "I just want a peace of mind." She leans her head against Sielaire's, but only briefly, before she jerks away to peer at her partner. "And…"

"Hm?"

Ayrenn seems to hesitate before she says, "One of them asked if I'm to wed."

Sielaire freezes, her body growing cold even with the sun's warmth on her skin. But Ayrenn smiles with a humour that Sielaire can't bring herself to feel.

"Relax, dear." Ayrenn touches her cheek. "I've said it'll be a long time before it happens. And, we can't really indulge in such luxuries with a war brewing on the horizon."

 _After, then?_ Sielaire wants to ask, but chokes before she even takes a breath. Her gaze drops, and is guided back up by gentle fingers under her chin.

"Are you upset?"

Sielaire stares at her, suddenly fragile on the inside, quivering imperceptibly from the uncertainty. _'And I love you,'_ Ayrenn has told her, an affirmation to Sielaire's confession, weeks before. But the words still ring so clearly in Sielaire's ears, as if Ayrenn has spoken them just moments before. She relives that moment in her mind every day, smiles at Ayrenn's reaffirmation every night, takes heart from their love every second in between. And that which has emboldened her, _completed_ her so, now threatens to shatter her into pieces.

Upset? No. She is… _frightened_.

Sielaire swallows thickly, unaware of the brooding frown that creases her brows. "I…will stand by you, whatever you may choose to do."

A wan smile parts Ayrenn's lips, as she laughs under her breath. "My stalwart warrior, ready to cleave her own heart in two, when her Queen so commands." She strokes at the scar on Sielaire's mouth with her fingertip – an idle habit she enjoys while they're together. "Don't worry, love." Ayrenn moves her hand down to rest on Sielaire's chest. "Your heart is safe with me."

Sielaire smiles weakly, and tries to hide her dismay by giving Ayrenn a soft kiss.

"I love you, Sie," Ayrenn whispers, and Sielaire's heart twists painfully.

She catches Ayrenn in another kiss – harder, deeper, with a sharp and desperate ardour, as if to sear her love onto Ayrenn's lips, onto her very _soul_. Ayrenn threads her fingers in Sielaire's hair, drawing her impossibly close, moaning softly at the nip of teeth on her lip. Sielaire hears the breathy sigh of her name, and she tugs Ayrenn into a tight embrace, the Queen practically sitting in her lap, chest-to-chest, as Sielaire's tongue delves in.

 _If only you were mine. All mine. If only–_

 _"Your Majesty, Councilor Norinil requests an audience."_

Ayrenn groans her frustration into Sielaire's mouth, knocking her fist into the soldier's sturdy pauldron. She breaks the kiss with a heavy sigh, wearing an impressive scowl to match.

"Are you going to–?" Sielaire asks, fingers digging unconsciously into the fabric of Ayrenn's dress.

"I'd better. It must be urgent enough for him to bother me here," Ayrenn mutters. She takes a deep breath to compose herself, then laughs softly at the slight, defeated curve of Sielaire's lips. "We'll resume our…discussion later, alright?"

Sielaire gives her another smile, despite the faint twinge in her chest. Shifting onto her feet before Ayrenn can move, Sielaire lifts the Queen in her arms effortlessly. She receives a kiss on her cheek as she walks indoors, and sets Ayrenn down in her chair behind the desk. Taking the crown in her hands, she places it carefully on Ayrenn's head, and leans back to look her over with a discerning eye. Ayrenn raises her brows, and Sielaire answers with a satisfied nod, before cupping her cheek and giving her one last peck on the lips.

"Come to my room tonight?" Ayrenn asks.

"Of course," Sielaire murmurs. She smooths a hand over Ayrenn's blonde tresses, then moves away to take her position at a corner of the library, standing at attention. Ayrenn catches her eye, and she nods in the affirmative.

Queen Ayrenn turns her head towards the door, her commanding presence reasserting itself in the simple, upward tilt of her chin, and the straightening of her shoulders.

"Enter."

* * *

 **A/N:** The Summerset trailer came out and Sie was in it and she has a voice now I'm STILL SCREAMING AAAAHHHHH SHE SOUNDS SO GOOD I CAN'T TAKE IT HALP

Also idk if she's gonna be added into the game for real? If she is, there might be a name change in the future... I'll see when I play the expansion for myself...until then, AAAAHHHHHH


	7. Chapter 7

Two Banners have fallen, and the Eagle flies above all, the sole victor in a war protracted over seven grueling years. The first to surrender was the Covenant – breaking apart after the deaths of their kings – but the Pact proved more stubborn, refusing to surrender after the Dunmer Tribunal made truce with the Dominion, and the Argonians had retreated back to their marshes.

But now, with Jorunn the Skald King slain before his throne in Windhelm, it's time to bring the Dominion's victory to completion.

Under the lead of Queen Ayrenn, the Dominion army marches across Skyrim, in pursuit of a small but loyal Pact contingent that has retreated into the westernmost city of Markarth. They are a troublesome lot to be sure, and though the Dominion expects little problem at subduing them, they _are_ inconvenienced by the fortress-like refuge carved into the very rocks of mountain. Spies have reported a literal uphill climb towards the keep, and the numerous tiers of the city provide the Pact archers with enough elevation to whittle down the Dominion's numbers, before they even came face-to-face.

Given the Pact's proven tenacity in the face of overwhelming odds, they expected their foes to force the Dominion to pay a steep blood price for an absolute victory. Thus, it's truly a surprise to find the Pact soldiers waiting for them in the open farmlands some distance before Markarth, standing still even as the Dominion closes the distance. When Queen Ayrenn calls her army to a halt, a Nord general strides forth alone to the dead zone between their forces.

Sielaire narrows her eyes at the sight of the general. It's a familiar face – the very same warrior she had fought, and been captured by, during their lengthy campaign in Cyrodiil. She can't help but feel a lick of irritation – thousands have died, yet _he_ still lives _._

"There has been enough bloodshed in this war," he booms at them, without even a most simple greeting. "Unless you truly are bloodthirsty hounds seeking to feast upon us, you will listen to what I have to say."

Ayrenn gives a close-lipped smile in the face of his blatant disregard for her station. "Go on."

"I propose a duel – between me, and one of you. Only one life will be sacrificed to decide the fate of our people."

"A reasonable request. What are the stakes of this duel?"

"If you win, my people will bend knee to you – but you will treat them with respect, and show mercy to the civilians within Markarth."

Ayrenn nods. "And if you win?"

"My wish for the safety of Markarth still stands," the Nord says simply. "But you will let my soldiers go free."

A moment's consideration. "Very well. And what are the conditions of the duel?"

"Simple: a duel to the death. The one left standing, wins." He pauses, then adds, "And I will choose my opponent."

"Only from the ranks of our officers."

"That is what I intend."

"Then we accept your proposal." With two swift hand gestures, Ayrenn orders her commanders to move forth, standing astride the Queen's horse in a neat row. "Choose your opponent."

The Nord doesn't even pretend to consider his options. He unsheathes his battleaxe, eyes going straight to Sielaire, and he points his weapon at her.

Sielaire's lips twitch, and she shares a quick glance with Ayrenn. The Queen doesn't nod – she knows her battlereeve isn't asking for permission, but merely giving an acknowledgement. _I accept my fate in this duel, whatever it might be._

Sielaire dismounts smartly, a fire sparking to life deep in her gut. It's a feeling she had buried years ago, along with the shame and vulnerability tied to it. But this time, the anger rises again, without that deep-seated fear to shackle it down. And she welcomes it.

She starts to march forward to meet her opponent, but is stopped by the Queen's hand on her shoulder, when she passes by the regal, armoured horse.

"Be careful, Sielaire," Ayrenn says quietly, her expression as placid as her wife's.

A curt nod, and the battlereeve strides out into the field.

* * *

The battle has yet to begin, and Ayrenn is already unsettled. Sielaire's eyes are dark – darker than they had been on nights when she found Sielaire beating a training dummy half to death, in the early hours of a sleepless morning. She recognises the hatred, the resentment, the need to lose control – and it _scares_ her.

Sielaire's strength has always been control – complete, utter control of herself in the battlefield, no matter the circumstance. It allows her to evaluate and adapt at the snap of a finger, to keep from falling to her passions and losing focus in battle. It's a state of mind that bleeds into the rest of her soldiers; Ayrenn has witnessed how the Wings unconsciously mimic their commander, blood rage rising and falling in tandem with Sielaire's, and it is this synergy that has earned them so many hard-won battles, and the reputation that comes with it.

Now, though, Ayrenn worries that Sielaire might become another person entirely.

* * *

She can feel that burn deep within her chest, and she clutches it close to her beating heart, fire growing hotter as she stands before the Nord warrior. Neither give any indication of recognition, save for the edge of steel in their gaze – a resolution that only one shall walk away from this battle, finally bringing their long-lasting feud to an end.

Sielaire's blade hisses quietly against its leather sheath as she draws it, and holds it by her side, ready to fly into battle at a moment's notice. She holds the Nord's stare through his bulky, horned helmet, and they start to circle each other slowly, matching pace as they wait for either to make the first move. Sielaire takes the chance to size her opponent up – she has learnt from their past engagements that this Nord is unafraid of using his size to his advantage. He acts as a bully in combat, determined to pummel his foes into submission while taunting them into making all the wrong moves.

Despite his bulk, he handles his heavy axe quite deftly, even if his swings are still slower than Sielaire's lightning-quick strikes. And should he be too slow, his thick armour can pick up the slack, taking a large number of blows that would've incapacitated him. This, Sielaire decides, shall be her priority.

She counts her steps – one, two, three–

Sielaire lifts her sword high and sprints forward, inciting a similar reaction in her opponent. The Nord rushes forward with a roar, but she is ready. Sielaire sidesteps his downward strike easily, slipping past him and bringing her blade across his back. Adamantium clashes loudly against steel chainmail, and a leather strap of his chestplate is severed by her sword. Sielaire leaps backwards when the Nord swings his axe around in a wide arc, and it's obvious he didn't expect his attack to hit – he doesn't follow through, and cocks his head at her quizzically, as if puzzling out the intent of her starting move.

She doesn't give him the chance to think, leaping forward again. They meet strike for strike, but Sielaire is cautious not to take too many of his axe blows directly. Though her blade is able to withstand the impact, her arms cannot do the same indefinitely, even if she can switch sword arms at will. So she keeps her focus, dodging and blocking the axe as appropriate, dancing over withered grass as she darts at her larger opponent again and again, always aiming for the straps that hold his armour together, and daring a few attempts at his neck.

The Nord lashes out with a kick, and Sielaire evades it easily – as he intended. She notices the warrior shifting his grip on his axe, closer to the blade, and her understanding arrives at the same time his axe clashes into her sword with surprising speed. The Nord invades her space, and barely gives her time to breathe, swinging his axe at her repeatedly, until Sielaire feels herself being forced into a corner.

On his next blow, Sielaire stops the axe with her sword on its haft, and twists it around, nearly pulling the heavy weapon out of the Nord's hands. He recovers quickly and swings his axe over his head, but Sielaire is one step ahead, flinging her hand out–

Her eyes widen when she realises her arm is bereft of the familiar electric glow of magicka, and within the next second, the axe cleaves right through the overlapping pauldrons on her left shoulder, biting through her flesh and into the bone. A pained cry is ripped from her throat as she's forced to one knee under the impact, feeling the iciness radiating from the axe's enchantment. She realises belatedly that she has brought her blade up to stop the axe from cutting through her shoulder, and she narrows her eyes through the pain, lifting her head to spot the crimson glow beneath his bracer.

 _That's–_

 _The glow that haunts her nightmares._

Fury bursts in her chest, and she pushes herself to her feet with a shout, the axe blade digging deeper into her flesh, before she charges forward and slices her sword across his stomach. Before she can clear him completely, however, the Nord whirls around and forces her to meet his axe again. Her one-handed grip does little to withstand the blow, and she's forced to stumble backwards, putting more ground between them.

Sielaire is perplexed when he doesn't press his advantage and attack while she's hunched over, trying to catch her breath through the pain lancing down her shoulder. She raises her gaze towards the warrior, who lifts his left arm to display the rune embedded on the underside of his bracer, emitting the very same red glow she had seen during her time in Pact captivity – the spell that had severed her magicka then, is doing the same to her now.

The Nord's mouth curls in a self-satisfied grin, when understanding dawns upon her face. He has obviously planned this, to lure Sielaire into a battle with a handicap.

Sielaire's grip on her sword tightens, turning her knuckles white. She is unaware of the growl rumbling through her bared teeth.

* * *

"Sie–," Ayrenn gasps when the axe forces Sielaire to one knee. Her hands tighten around the reins of her horse, and it takes all her willpower not to fly into the battle herself.

 _Why did Sie's magic not work?_

Heart pounding in her chest, Ayrenn watches as Sielaire slips away from the axe, and manages to gain some distance from the Nord. Sielaire is in obvious pain, favouring her left shoulder where her pauldrons have fallen and exposed the ragged, bleeding wound beneath. A subtle golden glow slithers up her arm and winds around the wound, but the presence of mind to heal herself with their enchanted wedding band, doesn't set Ayrenn at ease.

Sielaire's countenance twists with a rage that Ayrenn has never seen in their long years of war, and fear for her partner's safety makes the Queen's head feel light.

 _Please, love – stay your senses._

* * *

The two combatants fly towards each other again, and the Nord starts grunting under the swings of Sielaire's blade, growing wilder as she loses control of her temper. Her sword clashes into every target she can reach – his axe, his arms, his legs, his chainmail-covered chest left exposed by the chest guard, which has fallen to the ground from Sielaire's previous attempts at cutting it off. Each of her attacks strikes true – but she pays for every one by suffering a wound in return. Slashes and cuts litter her body, the ones in her sides paining her the most, and a dark bruise sits on her cheek, a gift from the Nord's elbow.

But the pain doesn't bother her. She doesn't _care_. She will gladly take on all the pain in the world, if only to bring the same upon the _bastard_ she fights against.

Sielaire darts forward, sword and axe ringing out the hundredth note of their cacophonous battlesong, and she matches him blade for blade until he stomps forward and rams his helmet against her head. Sielaire's vision blacks out for a second too long, and fire spreads across her abdomen, where the axe's pointed tip has dug through the folds of her armour, and sunk into her flesh.

Anger riding atop her pain, Sielaire lashes out – driving the tip of her sword through the Nord's left forearm. The warrior howls, then kicks out at her stomach. But Sielaire keeps her grip tight on her blade, its sharp edge slicing down his arm and through the bracer, cutting it cleanly off as he staggers backwards.

The rune in the bracer still glows among the grass, and Sielaire brings her boot down on it, but fails to crush it beneath the reinforced sole. Growling, she glances back at Ayrenn, and hits the bracer with a well-aimed kick – sending it flying towards the Queen.

A beast-like roar stirs the air, and Sielaire turns back to face the Nord, who shakes off the pain in his arm and fixes her with a burning glare.

Sielaire smirks, taking pleasure in his anger – for all the rage in Tamriel and Oblivion will do him no good, after the Queen does what needs to be done.

* * *

Ayrenn frowns at the bracer that Sielaire kicks over, and summons it to her outstretched hand with a simple telekinesis spell.

She feels it immediately – a malignant energy that shrouds the armour. Turning it over, she finds the rune still embedded in the ruined bracer, and plucks it out. Her lips curl in distaste as she examines the faintly glowing rune – they hadn't even bothered to refine it into a glyph, merely carving additional inscriptions into the stone to augment its power. This must be what's severing Sielaire's connection to her magicka – a primitive, _detestable_ attempt at gaining a foothold over the battlereeve.

Disgust burns like acid in her chest, and Ayrenn tosses the bracer away. Curling her fingers over the rune, she calls forth her own magicka, overwhelming the crude enchantment in the stone easily. She crushes the rune beneath the tendrils of her magic, and it crumbles to dust, falling through her fingers as mere ashes.

* * *

The battlefield is under _her_ dominion now.

Unshackled, Sielaire blasts the Nord with spell after spell, charring his armour black all over with vicious green lightning. She, who is capable of conjuring a thunderstorm to devastate an army of thousands, can very well disintegrate the Nord to ashes in a mere second – both of them know it. But a deep, dark part of Sielaire claws for vengeance, and she takes it gladly.

That the Nord gets more enraged with each lightning strike? _Even better._

She revels in the hate blazing in his eyes whenever she knocks his axe away with magic, and drives her sword through him again. She leaves countless cuts on his arms and legs, sharp eyes watching him tire with each passing minute, but the indulgence proves to be a mistake when he pounces at her like a cornered bear. She steps back too late, and the flat of his axe rams under her chin, the sharpened blade's edge leaving a long but shallow cut up the length of her cheek.

Sielaire laughs aloud at the pain, even as indignation flares in the pit of her stomach, and she swoops in to snatch her victory, bringing her blade through the Nord's sword arm, severing it near the elbow. His howl is cut short by sharp, airless gasps when Sielaire drives her sword into his stomach – once, twice, thrice–

She has lost count by the time she sinks the blade through his chest, twists it hard, and forces the Nord to his knees. Sielaire pants heavily, tasting copper in her mouth as she stares down into the Nord's dark eyes, finding the gleam of disdain, exhaustion, resolution, _respect_. It takes Sielaire by surprise, and drives her over the edge.

Ripping the sword from his chest, Sielaire lets out a ragged cry as she slices her sword through his thick neck, severing his head from his shoulders. Warm blood splatters onto her face as she watches the body fall over to the ground, its head thudding onto dry grass.

She stands there, near catatonic, as cheers erupt from the Dominion army behind her. One moment passes, then two, and she gets it in her head to move back towards her horse.

Sielaire turns around, the world moving inexplicably slow around her. She takes one step after another in a haze, dimly aware that Dominion soldiers are moving forward to secure their Pact captives, but she soon forgets about them.

Her eyes are fixed on the Queen, who has dismounted from her horse, and is walking towards Sielaire with a deep furrow between her brows. Sielaire wonders vaguely about a question she doesn't remember, and finds her answer when she presses a hand to the armour at her stomach, fingers coming away slick with blood. Numbness spreads across her abdomen, as do the tremors slowly overtaking her body, her feet growing unsteady on solid ground. Her consciousness has narrowed, focused on Ayrenn alone, wanting to ask why she looks so worried–

The sword falls from Sielaire's hand, and she sways dangerously on her next step, but Ayrenn lunges forward to catch her before she collapses. She lies limply in Ayrenn's hold, head falling onto the Queen's armoured shoulder, then lolls back when her feet leave the ground, Ayrenn carrying her in both arms. She catches a glimpse of blonde hair beneath that blue-and-gold winged crown, before her vision fades to black, a sole voice ringing in her ears.

"Healer! Get the healers, _now!_ "

* * *

When Sielaire regains consciousness, it's with much difficulty, though her body is not hurting as much as it should be. She blinks slowly up at the thick tent canvas, through which daylight still shines, casting a comfortable glow over the enclosed space.

"Send word to Her Majesty that the Battlereeve has woken."

Sielaire turns her head towards the voice, just catching sight of the tent flaps closing behind a runner, before the camp's lead healer kneels beside her bedroll.

"Do you remember your name and rank?" the Altmer asks gently.

Gazing blearily up at the healer, she rasps, "Sielaire. Battlereeve."

"Good. Do you remember where you are?"

This, Sielaire struggles to recall. "Skyrim…Markarth."

"That's right. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to ask–" The healer is cut off when the Queen enters the tent, but continues at a wave of Ayrenn's hand. "I'd like to ask just one more question. Do you remember what happened before you lost consciousness?"

"Duel." Sielaire is distracted when Ayrenn takes a seat beside her, and she raises a weak hand, which her wife grasps quickly. "I won."

"Yes, beloved. You did." Ayrenn smiles down at Sielaire, who gazes tiredly up at her.

Sielaire feels the siren call of sleep tugging at her, but she resists, just to look upon her wife that much longer. In the meantime, the healer presses two fingers to her wrist, checks her eyes and mouth, then examines the bandages beneath her shirt.

"The healing has taken well, Your Majesty," the healer says. "But I recommend at least two days' rest for the battlereeve – the duel and her exertion from the past few days are taking a toll on her body. Other than that, she is fine."

"Understood. Thank you." Ayrenn returns the healer's nod, and waits for her to leave the tent before turning her attention back to Sielaire. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

Sielaire considers the question, then shakes her head. "Nothing."

"No?" Ayrenn tilts her head, stroking Sielaire's cheek. "Not even…satisfaction? Vindication?"

Again, Sielaire searches her heart, and shakes her head mutely.

"Well, _I'm_ glad you're safe, for one. You had me worried from the start."

"Sorry…"

"No, hush." Ayrenn holds a finger to her lips. "You have nothing to apologise for." She smiles at Sielaire's nod, then presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Do you need anything, darling? Some water? Food?"

"Stay with me?" Sielaire asks softly.

"Of course – but I've to settle the camp first. I'll be back as soon as I have things in order, alright?"

Sielaire nods again, then smiles faintly when Ayrenn kisses her. Another peck on her forehead, and the Queen bustles out to the camp, leaving Sielaire alone in their tent.

She closes her eyes, feeling about the bandages wrapped around her abdomen. She must've suffered quite a number of wounds, so many that healing through magic couldn't suffice by itself. Not surprising, considering how she had…

Sielaire sighs, thinking back on the battle. It's a blur now, to be honest; all she can remember clearly is the Nord's dying gaze, and herself gradually losing a temper that she'd learnt to control, years ago. It is…embarrassing, to have lost her composure in front of the army, giving into a rage not unlike that of a Nord. How unbecoming of a battlereeve who has built a reputation based on her skill and poise. Still, it's lucky that Sielaire survived after losing her head in the duel. It would've been a waste to die in such a battle–

 _A waste?_

She ponders the word. She'd thought she hated the Nord – she _did_ hate him, had spent time thinking of how she'd enact her vengeance upon him when they next meet. But now, after achieving the very goal she'd secretly harboured for years, it just seems…petty. A need borne of wounded pride that has been unable to heal, not with the venom she'd carried for so long.

Now, she just doesn't care anymore. Doesn't care to feel or think on it.

Sielaire flexes her fingers, feeling the ghost of Ayrenn's touch, those soft lips on her own. And she does feel something. She smiles to herself, clutching weakly at her shirt.

She has everything she needs, and that is enough.

* * *

"My champion," Ayrenn breathes into her ear, sending a deeper flush through Sielaire's cheeks.

Her back arches when Ayrenn drives her fingers in again, murmuring sweet nothings in that smooth, dulcet tone. "Renn," Sielaire gasps, clutching tighter onto Ayrenn's shoulders, wrapping a leg around her lover's hips as she rocks into Ayrenn's hand, riding her expert fingers ever closer to completion–

She forces her eyes open when Ayrenn slows down, meeting her wife's gaze through darkness illuminated by the warm electric crackle from her fingers, and her question is answered when a third digit slides into her. Ayrenn slips in slowly, catching Sielaire's lips in a soft kiss as she sinks up to the second knuckle, then plunges the rest of the way in.

" _Ah–!_ " Sielaire's moan is sharp, her nails digging into Ayrenn's flesh. "Renn–," she whimpers, muscles trembling as Ayrenn thrusts deep and fast, wetness slicking over her fingers. Ayrenn holds her captive, pace unrelenting, subtly gathering magicka about her digits, then lets it flare in a single pulse.

" _Renn!_ " Sielaire's head falls back, body taut as she clamps tighter around Ayrenn, reaching her peak but not quite there. She hears Ayrenn's deep, throaty chuckle, and nearly lets out another whimper in return.

"Oh, my dear hero." Ayrenn kisses slowly up the column of her exposed throat. "She who triumphs over all, but falls only to one… Or three, in this case."

Sielaire barks a breathless laugh, shooting her an incredulous look through half-lidded eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Ayrenn scoffs. "Such disrespect for your Queen. I'll have to teach you a lesson."

Sielaire smiles into the soft kiss gifted upon her lips, and moans quietly when Ayrenn's tongue slips in, gliding over hers with tantalising pressure. She can still taste the wine they've shared, mixed with her own heady flavour, from Ayrenn's time between Sielaire's thighs. Lifting her head, Sielaire tries to follow Ayrenn when she withdraws, and is rewarded with another kiss. "Is this the lesson, Your Majesty?" Sielaire asks with a crooked smile.

Ayrenn's smirk only grows when she pulses her magic inside Sielaire, watching her lover's eyelids flutter, another breathless moan falling from her lips. "Your tongue is growing sharp, my dear Consort," Ayrenn murmurs, biting Sielaire's lower lip. "You're lucky I love it so." A deep kiss. "Now, put it to use. Say my name."

"Is that–" Sielaire's breath hitches when Ayrenn starts thrusting into her again. "Is that all?"

"Say it," Ayrenn intones, closing her teeth none-too-gently on Sielaire's ear.

Groaning at the next pulse of magicka in her, keenly aware of its growing rhythm and intensity, Sielaire surrenders a quiet, "Ayrenn."

"Louder."

Sielaire lets out a soft whine as Ayrenn trails down from her ear, nipping and sucking at her skin. She knows _exactly_ what Ayrenn wants, that she won't be denied. Another intense pulse, and Sielaire clamps around Ayrenn's fingers reflexively. " _Renn_."

"Louder, Sie," Ayrenn whispers into Sielaire's throat, nibbling her way down to her lover's chest, and takes a breast into her mouth.

"Renn," she says, feeling a tongue swirl around her nipple, arching her chest further into Ayrenn's mouth. "Ayrenn, please."

Ayrenn doesn't answer, moving her lips down from Sielaire's chest, kissing the new scars adorning her lover's abs, intimately aware of the flex in Sielaire's muscles as she keeps her wife teetering on the very edge.

" _Ayrenn_."

Despite the fingers clutching onto her head, Ayrenn clicks her tongue and straightens herself, Sielaire's hand falling to rest on her hip as she gazes down at her wife. Her movements in Sielaire have stilled, and she can see the desperation simmering just beneath Sielaire's eyes.

"Really, Sie," Ayrenn pretends to chide her. "Is it such a shame to have my name on your tongue? If so, then we shouldn't even be…"

She leaves her suggestion hanging in the air, starting to pull her fingers out with excruciating slowness. A smile curves her lips when Sielaire quickly grabs onto her wrist, staying her hand. In a flash, Sielaire reaches up to wrap both arms around Ayrenn's neck, pulling her back down into a needy kiss.

"Ayrenn," Sielaire says, breaking through the lustful haze in her voice. " _Please_."

"That's better." Ayrenn kisses her, Sielaire moaning against her mouth when she plunges her fingers in. "Now, louder."

Sielaire can barely think when Ayrenn's rhythm picks up, leaving her gasping for air. But she manages a weak, "We're in camp."

"I don't care," Ayrenn growls, and Sielaire shivers at her hard tone. " _Louder_. Everyone will know you're _mine_."

A pitched whine leaves her throat, her lips trembling from the pleasure coursing through her body, Ayrenn punctuating every thrust with a stroke of her clit. "Ayrenn–, _Ayrenn!_ "

"Good, Sielaire," Ayrenn purrs into her ear. "More. Give me more."

Both legs wrapped around Ayrenn's hips now, fingers clawing helplessly at Ayrenn's back, hips rocking up to meet each hard thrust. "Renn, please!"

Ayrenn groans at Sielaire's quivering plea, and the sting on her back as green-glowing fingers rake over her flesh. She returns the favour, blue aura swirling about her fingers as she delves into Sielaire again and again, timing each pulse to flare when she thrusts knuckle-deep. "Gods, Sielaire. You're so wet," Ayrenn utters in her ear, as Sielaire clutches firmly onto blonde tresses. "So tight. You're mine, Sie. _All mine._ "

"Fuck–" Sielaire arches her back involuntarily, muscles clenching until her climax hits. " _Renn!_ "

Her cry is sharp and clear, ringing through the tent and surely beyond its thick canvas. But she doesn't have the presence of mind to care – Ayrenn's fingers are still moving and pulsing deep inside her, guiding her over the peak, and _more_.

Sielaire's lips part in a silent scream, her eyes rolling back and falling shut, arms clamping tightly around Ayrenn as her trembling body rides out the sweetest ecstasy. She remembers to breathe at Ayrenn's gentle urging, feeling soft lips caress her face, Ayrenn's fingers finally coming to a slow stop. Her muscles gradually lose grip on Ayrenn as her body grows limp under her lover, who lavishes her sweat-slicked skin with soft, indulgent kisses.

Sielaire threads her fingers through Ayrenn's hair, smiling at her wife's tender gaze, and pulls her down for a kiss. "You're horrible," she whispers when they part, and Ayrenn laughs.

"Maybe," Ayrenn croons, kissing her again. "But you love me this way."

Breathing a lengthy sigh, Sielaire shifts on their bedroll so that Ayrenn can lie down comfortably beside her, their legs entwined, arms draped around each other in a loose embrace. "Does that make me a horrible person too?"

"No," Ayrenn replies, touching their foreheads together. "You're still the most perfect, most beautiful woman to exist."

"Flatterer."

"Honesty is not flattery, dearest." Ayrenn smiles softly, fingers tracing the long, reddish scar over Sielaire's shoulder.

Sielaire laughs under her breath, running her fingertips through Ayrenn's hair. "Then you are perfect as well."

Ayrenn hums a lilting tone in assent, and scoots closer to give her a peck on the lips. "I love you."

"And I love you," Sielaire whispers, awed by how three simple words still manage to take her breath away, even after all their years together. "I love you more than anything in this world."


	8. Chapter 8

A magnificent banquet in the vast hall of Castle Alinor, held in honour of the long-lost Princess Ayrenn's return and her claim to the throne. The Court of Alinor is in attendance, along with every kinlord, kinlady, and dignitary who is invited and are eager to see for themselves the Queen-to-be. Those who've spoken to her are as delighted as they are surprised – Ayrenn displays an adherence to decorum with a natural flair as expected from Altmeri royalty, but weaves such ease and wit into a traditionally stoic demeanour, that it almost seems outlandish.

And she secretly delights in it.

Not just for her own amusement, no. She is able to gauge each individual's character, according to the response she baits from them; and in so doing, she identifies potential allies who won't shy away from her lofty and ambitious vision, and notes those who may pose trouble in the future. Carrying this secret agenda in mind, Ayrenn tries to speak to each and every guest, but alas, some remain out of her reach even as the night draws to a close.

Picking a glass of wine from a server's tray, Ayrenn reminds herself not to take a sip while walking, and quickly makes a beeline for her cousin, who is just extracting herself from a conversation with two kinladies. Taking Alwinarwe gently by the hand, she guides her cousin smoothly towards a quiet spot in the back of the hall, where Alwinarwe takes a glass of wine for herself and dismisses the servant.

"Is there something on your mind?" Alwinarwe asks, taking a sip from her glass.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Ayrenn scans the hall discretely, then leans closer to Alwinarwe when she spots the one she's looking for. "Tell me about that one," she says quietly, nodding at the red-headed battlereeve standing at the far side of the hall, speaking with two fellow battlereeves and a jurisreeve.

This commander in particular has caught her eye, and frustrated Ayrenn, who can never seem to get close enough to strike up a conversation with her. Thus, all Ayrenn has is but a visual judgment on her; the battlereeve's neutral expression never once wavered in the time Ayrenn has watched her, though she has broken into a polite smile now and again. Her dress uniform is as impeccable as that of her colleagues, and she cuts a sharp figure in the sleek ceremonial breastplate, worn beneath a high-collared open coat, held together with a belt around the waist.

Alwinarwe tilts her head slightly in confusion, until she finally finds the one Ayrenn has pointed out. "Ah. Battlereeve Sielaire, of Shimmerene. Her career in the military has been relatively short, but impressive enough that she was catapulted to Battlereeve at such a young age."

"How young?" Ayrenn's curiosity is piqued.

Her cousin takes a moment to think. "If I recall correctly, she was little older than 50 when she was promoted. That is about…" Alwinarwe's fingers twitch around her wine glass in mental calculation. "6 years ago. It caused quite a bit of a stir – because of her age, many believed she'd politicked to attain that rank."

"But did she?"

"Hm. From what I know of her, and her character, I am disinclined to believe that theory. Besides, her record of victories against the Maormer speaks for itself – even the late general who was her mentor, cited her as a 'war prodigy'…though I cannot attest to that myself."

"Interesting enough," Ayrenn murmurs, with the slightest laugh bubbling in her voice. "A young mer who caused a stir in her ascent to power? I might just find a kindred spirit in that one."

Alwinarwe shoots her a dour look. "I assure you, my dear cousin, that she is most unlike you. She observes proper decorum, and displays a healthy regard for our traditions. That is to say, she doesn't try to upset them on purpose."

Ayrenn smiles. "Just what are you implying, Alwin?"

"That is for you to reflect upon," Alwinarwe sighs, and takes another sip of wine. "You are assembling the guard contingent for your travels, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Ayrenn replies, her eyes coming to rest on the battlereeve once more. "And I think she…is perfect."

* * *

Sielaire is walking down a hallway of the palace, subconsciously enjoying the warmth of sunlight pouring through tall glass windows, even as her mind is still pondering on the meeting she has just left, mentally dividing their soldiers into separate divisions. They'll have to be careful not to stretch their forces too thin across the Isles, what with news of trouble brewing across the sea…

Two cool fingers slide down the exposed skin of her upper back, startling Sielaire out of her musings. But her shock is quickly replaced by indignation, and she turns around with a deep scowl, ready to deliver a biting reprimand for whoever's sheer _audacity_ –

 _Ah, yes._ Before her stands the most audacious of all – Queen of the Blessed Isles, Ayrenn Arana Aldmeri.

A crooked smile sits on the Queen's lips as she steps forward, closing the distance between them. Sielaire stiffens slightly when they stand nearly chest-to-chest. "You look so _very_ attractive when you're angry," Ayrenn murmurs, and Sielaire has to hide a cough as a flush creeps to the tips of her ears.

Sielaire tears her gaze away from Ayrenn, and looks around to discover something glaringly absent. "Where are your guards?"

"I've dismissed them for the day." Ayrenn winks, then takes Sielaire by the hand and leads her down the hallway. The battlereeve thinks they're making for Ayrenn's private study, but the Queen tugs her into a balcony of a relatively secluded corridor, and Sielaire's mind goes blank when Ayrenn's lips meet hers.

Her eyes fall shut as she returns Ayrenn's second, deeper kiss, before she regains her senses and pulls away from the Queen with difficulty. " _Ayrenn_ ," Sielaire whispers, grabbing onto her lover's arms. "We cannot–, we're not in private."

"We're alone." Ayrenn's voice lilts in that playful note, and she isn't dissuaded, leaning in to plant more kisses on Sielaire's lips. They're short, often broken by the battlereeve in the name of propriety, but Sielaire is always, _always_ coaxed back by another brush of their lips together. "I missed you, Sie," Ayrenn breathes between kisses. "How dare you leave me alone for the entire morning…"

"I had–, things to attend–" Sielaire finds it difficult to piece her words together.

"Things more important than your Queen?" Ayrenn purrs. "I'll have to issue an edict then. For Battlereeve Sielaire to never leave her Queen's side ever again."

Despite herself, Sielaire huffs in amusement. "You cannot do that."

"Oh, I can." Ayrenn's smile grows along with Sielaire's. "Just try me."

They share a quiet laugh as Ayrenn leans in again, and Sielaire smiles into her kisses, half-aware that Ayrenn is pushing her backwards, until her hip bumps into the balustrade. She cups Ayrenn's face in both hands, pressing a kiss to the Queen's waiting lips, feeling lithe fingers reaching up to twine with her own–

A cough.

Sielaire is the first to move, looking up to find the Proxy Queen standing in the balcony's doorway. She jerks away from Ayrenn in an effort to put a respectable distance between them, then clasps a fist over her heart, and bows to Alwinarwe with as much dignity as she can muster. Ayrenn is less tense than Sielaire – in fact, she doesn't bear any hint of tension at all, and instead gives her cousin a lazy smile.

"Alwin. What a surprise."

"A 'surprise', indeed," Alwinarwe replies drily, then shifts her gaze over to Sielaire, who is standing at attention. "I wish to speak with my cousin in private."

Sielaire bows her head, and leaves the balcony without a word.

* * *

Ayrenn smiles when Sielaire casts her a worried glance from behind Alwinarwe's back, and the battlereeve hesitates briefly, before Ayrenn gives her a reassuring nod. When Sielaire's footsteps have faded, Alwinarwe keeps her silence, gazing out into the distance. But even then, Ayrenn can read the disapproval on her face.

"Alwin…"

"I've heard rumours," Alwinarwe says. "But I chose not to believe them."

"Cousin, you are overthinking this–"

"Am I?" Alwin turns to face her. "Ayrenn, that crown you wear on your head – it grants you authority, but it _doesn't_ grant you absolute freedom to do whatever you desire, to indulge in your every whim. You have a duty to the throne and your people, and you cannot afford for such… _dalliances_ to distract you. And of all people, you chose one not even of noble blood!"

Ayrenn keeps the smile on her face. "Don't worry, Alwin. It's not like we can produce bastards between us."

" _Ayrenn_ ," Alwinarwe intones. "For _once_ , be serious."

"And you are taking this too seriously. Monarchs taking lovers is not unheard of."

"You still have your reputation, your _station_ to consider. You have duties to perform, and you cannot be impeded in any way. That includes–"

" _I know_ , cousin. I may be young, but I am _not_ a fool." Ayrenn catches herself when her tone grows cutting, and she takes a quiet breath to compose herself. "I know what I am doing, Alwin. And it won't stand between me and the Dominion. If people want to talk, fine. It is harmless. There's little they can say that will hurt my position." She clasps her hands together. "And I understand the 'duty' that you are concerned with. If push comes to shove…my heir shall not be of my blood. I have spoken to our cousin in Lillandril–"

"Then you are already decided." Alwin's tone is of practiced calm, but Ayrenn can hear her reproach, her _dread_. "This is not a mere dalliance."

"I have a contingency–"

"For an affair you are too deeply involved in."

Ayrenn takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly as she turns away from Alwinarwe. She rests her hands on the balustrade, closing her eyes briefly. "I will handle the consequences, Alwin."

A prolonged silence.

"I hope you are able to, Ayrenn."

* * *

Ayrenn has set sail for Valenwood yet again, but this time, she doesn't bring her beloved battlereeve along. Since this will be a short trip for a meeting in the Dominion's capital city, Ayrenn has decided to leave Sielaire behind, letting her stand guard over the Proxy Queen instead. And so, that's why Sielaire is walking through the tall doors of Castle Alinor's entrance, towards the council room where Alwinarwe's attendants wait by the closed wooden doors.

She has barely taken a few more steps when the doors swing open, and Razum-dar strolls through them with that distinctively casual gait. As the attendants hurry to close the doors behind him, Razum-dar's eyes brighten when they land on Sielaire, and he walks towards her with arms wide open.

"Ah, my favourite battlereeve!" He stops before her with his arms still outstretched – Sielaire suspects he is rethinking his intent of hugging her – and he settles for clasping her by the shoulders. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

"And aren't you a rare sight around here."

"Oh, Raz can't afford to stay around for too long, as you well know. Cannot have the whole palace falling in love with this handsome face, can he?" Raz grins when Sielaire gives a half eye-roll. "Say, it's been a long time since we've last met. How about getting some drinks at the tavern tonight?"

"Why not," Sielaire agrees, then taps on the report in her hand idly. "But first things first – is the Proxy Queen in there?"

"Yes. She's alone, and Raz thinks she'll be staying in there a little longer. Just had a meeting with this one." A sly grin grows on Razum-dar's face.

"You didn't work her up again, did you?"

Raz shrugs. "All Raz can say is, good luck." And as he starts walking away, he utters quietly, "Too bad you can't kiss _this_ queen into submission, eh?"

Sielaire whips around to fix him with a piercing stare, and Razum-dar merely winks at her before strolling out of the palace. A faint flush gathers beneath the collar of her uniform, but she takes a breath to compose herself, before the warmth travels to her ears. She straightens her shoulders, then makes for the council room, where the attendants part the doors to allow her entry.

She strides down the long table to where Alwinarwe sits at its head, poring over a document with a deep crease on her forehead. The Proxy Queen looks up when she salutes, then accepts her report and reads it quickly.

Alwinarwe nods, glancing back at Sielaire. "Thank you, Battlereeve." But she doesn't follow the acknowledgement with a dismissal, and gestures at the seat nearest to her instead. "Please sit, if you have a moment."

Sielaire takes her place in the stiff-backed chair, aware that her discomfort doesn't stem solely from the rigid furniture. She waits patiently while Alwinarwe fixes her with a placid gaze, and sure enough, the Proxy Queen asks, "Tell me, what is your relationship with Ayrenn?"

She doesn't answer, not immediately. Politicians have a way of hiding questions within questions, and it takes some dexterity to reply in a way that doesn't offend or complicate matters. Granted, Alwinarwe's question is rather direct, and given her honourable character, Sielaire is inclined to give her a direct answer in return. But this concerns Ayrenn, and though Alwinarwe hasn't probed further into the matter, Sielaire senses that the cousins have reached a silent, if uncomfortable accord over the situation.

So why is Alwinarwe addressing it now, and with Sielaire alone?

"What do you wish to know, Your Majesty?"

"I wish to know the nature of this… _personal_ relationship you have with my cousin, and your intent with her."

"I have no malicious intent, if that is your meaning. I have no wish to harm her, and I will never do so voluntarily."

"So you say." Alwinarwe's reply is ambiguous, and sets Sielaire even more on edge. "Now tell me, what is your relationship with her?"

Again, Sielaire hesitates, uncertain of what Alwinarwe wants. She takes a breath, and says simply, "I love her."

It is rare for Sielaire to feel her composure crack, but Alwinarwe's stern gaze coupled with her weighty confession, is nearly enough to break her cool façade.

"And that love may interfere with her ability to govern, or earn her the displeasure of the Council."

"I understand."

"Your love alone may be enough to mar her judgment. There may come a time when she decides that you are more important than her people, and even the Dominion–"

"If I may be so bold, Your Majesty," Sielaire cuts in, and nearly recoils from her own disrespect. But she continues with surprising strength, "You assume that this love has blinded me. It has not."

Alwinarwe seems taken aback by her interruption, and a little miffed, but she tilts her head in silent question.

"I love Ayrenn, and yes, it is my heart's desire to be with her – if not for eternity, then for however long our lives will allow. But I know that my duty to the Queen, to the Isles, to the Dominion comes first, above all else. If I should stand between the Queen and her people, if I were ever to impair her ability to lead, then I will withdraw." Sielaire swallows thickly, hands clutching onto the armrests as her throat tightens. "I wish only the best for my love. And if it means that I have to go, I will. Without question."

A heavy silence falls over them. Alwinarwe steeples her fingers together, never breaking eye contact with Sielaire, regarding her thoughtfully. "Your word is the only thing that I can have, for now. And I have no choice but to take it. But make no mistake, Sielaire – if I find that you're causing more harm to Ayrenn than good, I will not hesitate to take action against you. Do you understand?"

"Without a doubt."

Alwinarwe nods slowly. "Good. Now," she sighs, leaning back in her seat. She touches two fingers briefly to her temple, eye falling shut as if in pain, before she refocuses on Sielaire. "You do know that Ayrenn is looking to establish a line of succession?"

"Yes. She is eyeing the Kinship in Lillandril."

"Our cousin's clan, yes. But we've only spoken to him, and will not choose an heir any time soon. As of now, only the Kinlord knows of our plans. I trust you will not speak of this to anyone."

"Of course not."

She nods again. "Ayrenn cares for you, Sielaire. So much that she already plans for a future with you. And she is still a young mer – as are you. But I trust that you will help to guide her passions in the right direction?"

"I will."

"Good," Alwinarwe says, giving a short shake of the head. "At least now, I have someone to share this headache of a cousin with."

It takes Sielaire by surprise, and she can't help but laugh at Alwinarwe's words – politely, of course.

* * *

The knock on their door is solid, and notably louder than any guard has dared before. Ayrenn turns from her desk to frown at the door, wondering who is the impolite one daring to disturb their peace – Sielaire has only just fallen asleep. But her question is quickly answered when the door swings open, and the attendant is barely able to herald the arrival of _'Proxy Queen Alwinar–'_ before the door is shut in his face.

Ayrenn is briefly distracted by Sielaire's awakening in their bed, then Alwinarwe snatches her full attention by marching towards her.

" _Marriage,_ Ayrenn!" Alwinarwe's tone is quiet but sharp, almost in accusation. "You are going to be _wed?_ "

"Ah." Ayrenn's lips part in a grin. "I see you've received our invitation."

Alwinarwe opens her mouth, no doubt to give her yet another lecture, but they're both distracted when they hear another solid knock – not from the door this time, but from the bed. They look over to find Sielaire sitting up with shoulders hunched, as she rubs at the back of her head, where it'd hit against the headboard.

"No need, darling," Ayrenn says as Sielaire shuffles across the bed blearily, intending to stand and join them. "Stay there, or you might trip over yourself next."

The sleepy battlereeve mutters unintelligibly, then slumps back against the headboard.

"Ayrenn," Alwinarwe says, bringing her focus back. "Explain."

"What is there to explain? Sielaire and I will be wed next month," Ayrenn replies, matter-of-fact. They've sent out a small batch of invitations to their trusted friends, with explicit instructions to keep the Queen's wedding ceremony a secret. The guests have all accepted, but only Alwinarwe has bothered to travel all the way from her family home in Dusk, just to give a reply.

Obviously, for all that trouble, her reply will be a lengthy one.

"A wedding! A _secret_ wedding, out of the blue?" Alwin huffs, utterly exasperated. "Of course, I assume you have not obtained the approval of the Court, nor have you engaged a matchmaker to ensure that all the proper documents are in order?"

"You assume correctly, my wise cousin."

Alwinarwe lets out a frustrated groan, face falling into her hands. "Ayrenn, how many times do I have to remind you? You _cannot_ do such things however you like–"

"Of course I can." Ayrenn keeps her tone purposefully light. "I'm the Queen, remember?"

"And it's _exactly_ because you're the Queen that you have to do this properly. But no, there you go, putting a ring on Sielaire's finger before _any_ sort of negotiations. Thank the stars you didn't just…put a crown on her head and call it a day."

"Now that's a thought."

" _Ayrenn_."

Alwinarwe's voice has grown hard, and Ayrenn sighs heavily. "Alwin, I know how it looks. But proper preparations will take _years_ , and I don't want to wait that long. We live in a time of tumult, my dear cousin. We are fighting a war in Cyrodiil. And given the way things are, the battles we'll see…" Ayrenn glances over at Sielaire, who is now fully awake and focused on her. "I don't want to be left with regrets, if we are ever parted."

Sielaire's lips twitch, just as Alwinarwe speaks, "Be that as it may, we should try to remedy the situation as best we can." She turns to the battlereeve. "Sielaire, will your parents travel to Alinor for preliminary discussions?"

"I suppose so. But…"

"But?"

Sielaire exchanges a glance with Ayrenn, her expression turning sheepish. "I'd have to inform them first."

"You haven't told your family that you are betrothed to the Queen." Alwinarwe raises her hands as if to speak further, but drops them in dismay. "Obviously the two of you are well-matched for each other."

"Alwin," Sielaire says, and the nickname she's started using, now weighs heavy on her tongue. "I don't wish to bring my family into this just yet. As far as we know, there are still pockets of Heritance members on the Isles. I want to protect my family from any possible threat, until I can ensure their safety."

Alwinarwe lets out a slow sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The two of you…"

"Come now, Alwin. Relax." Ayrenn stands, clasping her cousin's arms. "And where are your manners! You just barged in here without even a greeting, or a word of 'congratulations'?"

"I'm sorry, cousin," Alwinarwe says quietly. "But I can't find it in myself to do so just yet."

Ayrenn's smile falters, as Alwinarwe averts her eyes. She gives her cousin a light squeeze, then glances over at Sielaire – who lowers her gaze from Alwin, with a brooding expression on her face.

Ayrenn feels her heart clench, and hopes she hasn't made a misstep.

* * *

There is little to prepare for the ceremony, truth be told. But Alwinarwe, who has since stayed in Alinor, insists on taking extra care with the details: planning for their privacy in the palace wing where the temple is, making sure that security is on hand, that Ayrenn's dress will be simple yet stunning, and that the couple has memorised each and every step of their wedding rites. With such attention from the Proxy Queen, it is little wonder that their wedding has gone smoothly.

Ayrenn draws Sielaire into a soft kiss, clutching her wife's hands tighter as they part, and she smiles when the priest pronounces their new status as a wedded couple. She steals another kiss from Sielaire as their guests clap politely, and laughs under her breath when she hears Razum-dar go, _'My girls, finally!'_ , only to get chastised by Alwinarwe in return.

Of course, Raz ripostes with practiced ease – the two have never stopped bickering once in the time they've known each other. And before Alwin can deliver her own retort, Ayrenn pulls her cousin off to the side, leaving Sielaire to deal with Raz and his offer to teach her a 'special Khajiiti dance', which she can perform for Ayrenn that night.

Ayrenn chuckles as Alwin huffs, "Just _how_ you stand him, I will never understand."

"Oh, Alwin. You know he loves us in his own way."

Her cousin scoffs at the thought. "He loves aggravating me, more like." She clicks her tongue when Ayrenn kneads at the deep crease between her brows.

"Then stop letting him aggravate you," Ayrenn suggests. But when Alwin keeps frowning at Raz, who has just gotten another laugh from the guests, Ayrenn takes her by the hands and turns her away. "Alwin, listen. I want to thank you for all you've done for this wedding. For us. Honestly, I'd half expected you to…pose an objection."

Alwinarwe sighs quietly, and shakes her head. "I am still concerned, Ayrenn. And I'm not looking forward to all the work we have to do in the future. But…I'm glad you're happy." She bites on her bottom lip and glances over at Sielaire.

The battlereeve isn't as boisterous as the rest, but a giddy smile remains plastered on her face. And though the battlereeve is wearing her dress uniform, she looks much more relaxed, and even more beautiful with the joy shining in her eyes. When Sielaire turns to meet her adoring gaze, Ayrenn forgets to breathe, and is only broken out of her reverie by Alwin.

"She looks at you like you're the brightest star in the darkest night," Alwinarwe muses.

"Oh?" Ayrenn smiles at her cousin. "Lost and desperate for direction?" She giggles when Alwin shoots her a long-suffering look.

Sielaire soon pries herself away from the guests to approach the cousins, and is surprised when Alwinarwe clutches onto her arm, drawing her over to stand by Ayrenn.

"I apologise for not saying this sooner." Alwin's voice is soft, sincere. "But – congratulations. May your marriage be everlasting, and your love stay soft and strong.

Ayrenn's smile grows brighter. "Thank you."

Alwinarwe seems to think it over, then draws her cousin into an embrace. Ayrenn wraps both arms around Alwin gladly, and holds her dearest cousin tight, cherishing Alwin's open expression of love.

* * *

When Sielaire emerges from the lavatory, she finds Ayrenn already dressed in a soft nightgown. Her wife turns around and smiles at her, waving her forward. As Sielaire approaches, Ayrenn reaches one hand to the music box on the dresser behind her, and a soothing melody of crystal clear bells and chimes fill the serene night air. Then she raises both her arms to specific positions, and Sielaire catches on – moving forward to meet her dance partner. She circles an arm around Ayrenn's waist, as Ayrenn rests an arm around her shoulders. Their hands meet, fingers entwining, and they ease smoothly into a slow dance.

They exchange no words, soft gazes locked as they glide over the floor in perfect harmony, a dreamlike cadence that draws to a gentle close with the first song. As the second begins, they slow into a pause when Ayrenn presses her lips to Sielaire's softly, and they share a smile before their feet start to move again.

"You know, Sie," Ayrenn says. "It's only been a few years since I've returned. Since I've met you. And yet, somehow, it feels like a century has passed."

"A lot has happened."

"Yes. And you are the most important thing that's happened to me." Ayrenn smiles when Sielaire kisses her knuckles. "We still have a long road ahead of us, dearest. But I feel as if…I have all that I need right now."

Sielaire chuckles softly. "Do you really?"

Ayrenn hums. "With you, Kinlady Sielaire, I can have everything I want."

A gentle smile curves Sielaire's lips, and she clasps Ayrenn's hand to her heart. "Then wait just a little longer, my beloved. And I shall give you the world."

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, this one's a little more disjointed between sections, but I've been dying to write Alwinarwe since she was revealed, and I wanna establish these three as a family unit before I move on from here. She'll be more involved in a linear arc (like Wanderlust), that will delve into their future - Ayrenn and Sielaire learning to rule together, having a family, and so on.

So yeeee I can't wait ehehehehe


	9. Aldmeri - 1

"Councilor Ocantar, I would like to point out – _again_ – that this does not break any of the traditions you hold so dear to your heart. I understand your concern that Her Majesty's marriage is not…truly conventional, but we have taken steps to ensure that it will not violate our most noble customs, nor taint the purity of our heritage. In fact, all the concerns you have raised so far _have_ been dealt with, and you've merely been leading our arguments in circles for the past two hours. I advise you, Councilor, to speak only your truest concerns, so that our time will not be further wasted."

 _Ah, Alwin_. _Most beloved cousin._

"Your Majesty, with all due respect – I am well aware of the 'steps' you have taken to protect our heritage. And while I do admire your considerate efforts, I am afraid that it is…artificial."

 _And Ocantar. Most hated councilor._

"Artificial?" Ayrenn breaks in, the sharpened edge in her careful tone giving the councilor pause – though only for a fleeting moment.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Ocantar bows his head in deference, but Ayrenn isn't taken in for a second. "I respect your observance of our traditions, and the lengths that you've gone to preserve them. But we are still ignoring an important fact – that Battlereeve Sielaire is descended from the merchant caste. And though she is now a warrior herself, she is still not of the nobility, Your Majesty – and raising her status is artificial at best. Her blood remains thin–"

"She _is_ of the blood – thin or not." Ayrenn cuts him off. If she is rude, she doesn't care – the councilor should count himself lucky that she hasn't smacked his head onto the table. "You forget, Ocantar, that the battlereeve is of noble lineage, and we will be raising her family back to their rightful class. Therefore, your argument that it is _'artificial'_ is misguided."

"But–, _Your Majesty_ ," Ocantar persists. "That you are raising her family _just_ for the marriage, it is whimsical–"

" _Whimsical?_ " Ayrenn laughs with contempt, earning a brief glance from Alwinarwe. "I see now, Councilor, the reason for your arguments. You still see me as a child, wearing a crown too big for my head, playing politics as if it were make-believe, tossing my little toy blocks wherever and whenever I so choose? No." She raises a hand when Ocantar opens his mouth again. "Be quiet. I have entertained your meaningless arguments long enough. I shall end this dispute once and for all."

She shares a glance with Alwin, who nods – they've prepared for this, long before they even entered the council room.

"You speak of tradition, but as Alwinarwe has pointed out – my marriage does not violate any of the practices our forebears have observed for millennia. Therefore, I suspect your concern is not one of tradition, but of precedents. It is true – no monarch in our long history has taken a spouse not of the noble class. And I assure you – I will not be the first.

"So that brings us to the issue of raising Battlereeve Sielaire's family to nobility. You claim that it is whimsical, that there is no reason for it – only that the Empress wants their daughter as a wife. It is untrue, but I will disprove this claim later. Councilor, you've also said that it is 'artificial', which is insulting – not only to me, but to fellow members of the Court as well. My father, the late King Hidellith, had elevated many families in his time – including those who had fallen centuries ago, much like the battlereeve's. And you recognise them, don't you?"

Ayrenn gestures at the two councilors sitting on her left, and they bow their heads. "Kinlord Cirenar and Kinlady Lanendarie. Both whose families had fallen, but were raised again by my father for their loyalty to the Blessed Isles and its people. Kinlord Cirenar's family lends their strength to our navy even to this day, and their people play an integral role in repelling the Maormer from our shores – spilling much of their own blood to keep our people safe. For their sacrifice, King Hidellith granted them a place among the nobility again."

"It is an honour to serve, Your Majesty." Cirenar bows with a fist over his heart. "And we pledge to serve you as we served the noble King."

Ayrenn nods, then turns her attention to the other. "Kinlady Lanendarie. During the worst times of our war with the Maormer, her family opened their doors to the displaced, offering food and shelter without asking for anything in return. They contributed to reconstruction efforts as well, building homes for their people after the fighting had passed. For their compassion and generosity, the late King welcomed them into the nobility once more."

"It is our duty to look after our own." Lanendarie smiles, bowing her head to Ayrenn.

"Now, tell me, Ocantar. Were their circumstances 'artificial'?"

"I–, no, Your Majesty–"

"Good. Now, let's talk about Battlereeve Sielaire. She has served valiantly in the war against the Maormer in King Hidellith's reign, and led a victorious campaign in Cyrodiil, claiming victory for the Aldmeri Dominion in the Alliance War. _Moreover,_ " Ayrenn continues, blatantly ignoring the councilor's attempts to speak. "Her family has not only donated their crops to the war effort, but a substantial amount of gold to the treasury as well. And, they've employed many veterans to work in their orchards and mills, at the end of the war. This, I believe, are actions befitting nobility – and they have earned their place in their rightful class."

"Your Majesty–"

"Now, let us talk about _your_ actions, Councilor Ocantar," Ayrenn says, finally deigning to look upon him directly. "What has your family done? For my father, I recall that you've…donated some gold to the treasury. Hm." Ayrenn tilts her head, making a show of trying to remember something. "Cousin, I'm afraid that's all I can think of. Is my memory failing me, or is that all they've done?"

"Yes, I'm afraid," Alwinarwe says evenly. "Token contributions of gold to the royal treasury are their most notable acts thus far."

"Oh, on the contrary. I can remember much more that they've done recently." Ayrenn smiles at the councilor. "The most memorable of which – their passionate opposition of my decree to open the borders of Summerset. In fact, they turned away many visitors to their city – in blatant disregard of their Queen's will – and misused the Divine Prosecution in removing innocent foreigners from their territory. Curious is it not, that they would in turn earn more gold from the very decree they've rebelled against?"

"Speaking of gold, Your Majesty," Alwinarwe joins in. "I would like to point out that Battlereeve Sielaire's family orchards are on lands that belong to Councilor Ocantar's kinship. That is to say, he is profiting from their thriving business. And if the battlereeve's family is elevated, they will gain ownership of the land, and will no longer have to pay taxes to the kinship – divesting the councilor of a source of income."

"Ah. Is that it, Councilor?" Ayrenn muses.

"I–, that is not–!"

"Is it not?" Alwinarwe cocks a brow. "Councilor Ocantar, even in King Hidellith's time, your kinship has done more in wresting power from other clans, than you have in supporting the very throne that you claim to hold in the highest regard. You and your family's game has been obvious to all from the very start – even to the late King."

Ayrenn smiles again – close-lipped and dangerous. "My father might have tolerated your presence, Councilor, but _I_ will not suffer self-serving egotists in my court. Should you persist in your family's… _'traditions'_ , you shall no longer give counsel to the throne."

Turning her gaze away from the mute councilor, Ayrenn speaks, "Are there any further concerns that the Court wishes to address?"

She waits, and only silence greets her – but it's not an uncomfortable one, with more than a few agreeable smiles from the rest.

"Then it is decided – we shall be wed, and Battlereeve Sielaire coronated as Empress Consort, on the 17th of Sun's Dawn in the coming year."

* * *

With the ceremony scheduled in a year's time, Sielaire is now truly set to work, spending all her days in preparation for the throne. The Battlereeve has had to be relieved of her regular duties as commander of the Wings, relegating most of her responsibilities to her second-in-command while she studies for the role of Empress Consort, and is put through all the necessary rites leading up to the coronation.

The latter is relatively simple, involving prayers to the ancestors for their blessing, supplications to the Divines, and many symbolic rituals to cleanse one's spirit and soul. For these, just following the priests' instructions and reciting familiar prayers is enough, and Sielaire doesn't have to expend much energy during the rituals. Her studies, on the other hand, are drastically more exhausting.

The most learned Sapiarchs from the Crystal Tower have been assigned to Sielaire, giving her a monarch's education within a tight and rigorous schedule. Day after day, her mind is filled to the brim with the intricacies of politics, the long and rich history of the Altmeri people, the language and magics of the ancient Aldmeri, as well as a broad range of subjects that cover even astrology and literature. All that she's never given a second thought in her life, are now the focus of her days. It's _maddening_.

Thankfully, the one to blame for all this is more than happy to help. Despite spending most of her youth away from the Isles, Ayrenn is surprisingly knowledgeable in these matters, and is able to answer Sielaire's questions effortlessly, while the future Consort is burning the midnight oil back in their own room.

But the training doesn't end with theory alone – Alwinarwe becomes involved with Sielaire's preparations as well, mostly in the practical. That is, instructing the battlereeve in holding court and audiences with her people, making the best judgments for petitions, and most importantly – informing her on court intrigue. All of these, Alwin has given Sielaire but a taste so far. Since they've only just begun, Alwinarwe decides to start with the simplest task possible – to train Sielaire in royal etiquette.

It sounds simple enough to the battlereeve. That is, until she is given her first proper lesson.

"Smile."

Sielaire tilts her head, not expecting the request. When Alwinarwe raises her brows, obviously waiting, Sielaire does as instructed – and smiles.

"A little more."

Sielaire frowns briefly, but pulls the corners of her lips higher.

"Your eyes."

"I'm sorry?"

"Smile with your eyes as well," Alwin explains. "You'll seem more genuine. Now, relax and try again."

Sielaire drops the smile with a sigh, then curves her lips again.

"Better," Alwin says slowly. "But not quite there yet. Really, there are many different kinds of smiles that you can put on. But for this, I want you to look approachable – like a queen you can trust and love. To give you an example, do it like this." Alwin smiles, gentle and close-lipped, her eyes bright and soft – the perfect visage of a beautiful, compassionate monarch. "See? This is one way. Or, you can try…however Ayrenn does it. Show her, cousin."

Alwin gestures at Ayrenn who, unfortunately, isn't of much help at the moment. Ayrenn keeps the back of her fingers pressed against her mouth, in a very poor attempt at hiding her smile and burgeoning laughter. She tries to take a breath, but her shoulders start shaking in mirth when she looks back at Sielaire, and Ayrenn has to turn away to hide her laughter.

"Yes, thank you for your help," Alwin says drily.

"I'm sorry," Ayrenn finally manages, after giving a few giggles and snorts behind her hand. "I'm so sorry, Sie, but you look constipated when you smile like that."

Sielaire starts to frown at Ayrenn, but then turns to squint at Alwin, who has clamped a hand over her own mouth to muffle a snort. To her credit, Alwin's face remains carefully placid.

"Alright, how about this?" Ayrenn touches Sielaire's cheek. "Try smiling at me. You do that very naturally with me."

"Ayrenn," Alwin says. "She can't look at everyone like they're her wife."

"We're just giving her a start. Sie, come on. Try."

"I'm suffering because of you," Sielaire deadpans, looking utterly unamused.

"Oh, darling. You've been suffering for me since the day we met. The difference is now, you're not suffering with a sword in hand, or a bleeding wound on your body. Isn't this _so_ much better?" Ayrenn croons sweetly, closing the distance to peck Sielaire on the lips. Then she gives another peck, and another, until her wife returns her little kisses, Sielaire wrapping an arm around her waist.

"See?" Ayrenn murmurs, tapping at the corner of her lips. "There's that smile…"

Sielaire laughs under her breath, as Ayrenn leans in again – only to have their reverie broken quickly.

"Ladies," Alwin interrupts, voice flat and long-suffering. "I'm still here."

"And you're welcome to watch, if you'd like," Ayrenn drawls, then swoops in for another kiss, refusing to part from Sielaire's lips until Alwinarwe pulls her away.

"Ayrenn, you are free to do with your wife as you will, _after_ the lesson." Alwin catches Ayrenn's wrist when her cousin tries to tweak her nose. "Now, if you don't mind." She nods at Sielaire. "I have an Empress Consort to groom."

* * *

Other than her studies and ceremonial rites, Sielaire has to prepare for the throne in yet another fashion – quite literally. The Empress Consort cannot be seen in public wearing the shirts, pants, and coats that the battlereeve is so fond of wearing in her downtime; and thus, Sielaire is to be given a whole new wardrobe that befits her station. But to obtain the royal wardrobe, Sielaire is first put through hours of measurement taking, outfit choosing and fitting, and so many discussions on the types of dresses she'll have, that she's about ready to bang her head against the wall. Hard. Multiple times.

Naturally, Ayrenn is well-aware of her exasperation with the process, and planned a little surprise to lift Sielaire's spirits.

It is yet another afternoon, and Sielaire is waiting in the changing room with Ayrenn, when the door opens to admit not the usual parade of tailors, but a single mer.

"Rilen?" Sielaire says in disbelief, rising from her chair.

"Sie!" Rilenya runs forward, and practically jumps onto her older sister, engulfing her in an embrace. "It's so _good_ to see you. This is so exciting!"

"Yes, but…why are you here?"

"Rilen will be the tailor in charge of your wardrobe," Ayrenn explains, grinning when she receives a hug from Rilenya as well. "I know how you hate having all the other tailors fiddling with your body, so I brought in someone you'd be comfortable with. Besides, who would know your tastes better than your own sister?"

"No one, that's who," Rilenya declares, taking a roll of measuring tape from the basket she's brought along. "Now, take off your clothes."

"But don't you have your own shop to worry about?" Sielaire says, stripping off her dress. "I thought the business has been growing."

"Yeah, but my people can handle it while I'm away. Besides, Ayrenn's setting me up with more contracts after I'm done with you, so…" Rilenya's voice drifts away as she takes notes of Sielaire's measurements, then glances at Ayrenn. "We're doing the wedding gowns first, yeah?"

Ayrenn nods.

"Good, I've a few ideas for it already." Rilenya reaches into her basket, and hands her sketchbook to Ayrenn. She grabs Sielaire by the shoulders and holds her in place, when her sister tries to look into the book as well. "No, Sie. You stay here. And don't worry – I know how much you _love_ having things hanging from your back. All my designs have scarves…though I really think the shawls work much better."

Rilenya hums to herself, turning Sielaire this way and that, while Ayrenn peruses the dress sketches with great interest.

"By the way, Sie," Rilenya says off-handedly. "Have I ever told you how much I hate your battle outfit? Because I do. I'm surprised you even survived the war with those stupid scarves hanging off your back."

"They're interwoven with reinforced fibres."

"Still, what about grabbing?"

"All who tried are dead," Sielaire informs her, earning an appraising glance from Rilenya, before her sister goes back to examining her arms.

"I see you haven't changed," Rilenya chuckles to herself, grasping Sielaire by the shoulders for a visual examination. Then she loops the measuring tape around Sielaire's chest. "Honestly, I thought it's a phase you'd grow out of. Really, Ayrenn – there was a time when she _refused_ to go anywhere without a scarf, rain or shine. It was absolutely ridiculous."

"Really?" Ayrenn laughs. "But just as well. I think she looks good in them."

"She definitely does. Trust me, it attracted no small amount of attention from the ladies…and men too, but they know better than to approach her by now."

"Why?"

"Sie punched any who tried pestering her. What, she never told you?" Rilenya huffs when Ayrenn looks surprised. "In fact, she punched anyone who tried to bother me and Virano too. But she got out of hand sometimes, and there were periods of time when _no one_ dared to approach us. I had so many dry spells because of _you_ , Sie."

"When are you ever dry," Sielaire deadpans, and Rilenya snaps the tape tight around her diaphragm in a silent chide.

"Anyway, I guess it's good – her reputation kept most of the pompous assholes away." Rilenya stooped lower so she could examine Sielaire from the waist down.

"Oh, Sie," Ayrenn says, "You've punched people for your siblings, but you've never punched anyone for me."

Sielaire's eyes grow wide, fixing Ayrenn with an incredulous stare. "I _killed_ people for you, Renn. I killed hundreds–no, _thousands_ for you."

"Ah yes," Rilenya says, standing upright again. "Nothing says 'romance' quite like spilling blood all over the battlefield, hm?"

"Hush, you."

* * *

"A full platoon from the First Auridon Marines would be sufficient to establish patrols along the roads to protect travelers, as well as bolster Firsthold's city guard. And there will be extra soldiers who can be assigned to the scholars investigating the source of the Daedra." Sielaire looks over at Ayrenn, who sits in the throne next to hers.

The Empress nods with a slight smile, and turns her gaze towards the Canonreeve of Firsthold. "In addition, we grant you the aid of two experts from the College of Sapiarchs, to bolster the ongoing efforts of the Mages Guild, and end this Daedric problem permanently. We wish you swift success, Canonreeve."

"You have my deepest gratitude, Your Majesty." The Canonreeve bows deeply to Ayrenn, then Sielaire as well.

When the last petitioner has left the throne room, Ayrenn dismisses the guards with a wave of her hand. Sielaire waits for the doors to close behind the last guard, then breathes a sigh of relief and leans back in the throne. _Her_ throne.

Seven months have passed swiftly, with Sielaire diligently soaking up every lesson from Alwinarwe and the Sapiarchs. Apparently she has processed so much knowledge in so little time, with such acuity that Ayrenn and Alwinarwe both decided that she is ready for actual practice. Though she hasn't taken to the throne in her full capacity, and merely acts as advisor to Empress Ayrenn, Sielaire already feels the weight of the crown that she has not yet worn.

"You've been doing well, my love," Ayrenn says gently. "No need to stress yourself so."

"I've been stressed since the start of the year," Sielaire utters, resting her head briefly on the tips of her fingers. When Ayrenn stands and takes her hand, Sielaire follows her wife's urging and rises from the throne as well. She leans into the soft kiss placed upon her lips, feeling Ayrenn's fingers massage the tense muscles of her nape, and forces herself to relax when they part.

"I have a…little gift for you."

Sielaire tilts her head, wondering at the playful smile Ayrenn wears, as her wife turns towards the side doors. Ayrenn sends forth a gentle wave of magical energy, hitting the bell affixed to the wall by the doors, which are promptly opened to admit a small guard contingent. They march towards the throne, and give a sharp salute.

"I hope you don't mind, my dear, but I've taken the liberty of assembling your personal guard," Ayrenn explains, and Sielaire has to keep from groaning out loud. "Most were chosen from the best of the Wings, and I believe you are familiar with their leader?"

"Battlereeve Earilas, reporting for duty, ma'am!" Earilas salutes again, holding his chin a little higher.

Sielaire nods slowly, her mind still…reeling. Earilas has served under Sielaire since Ayrenn's coronation as Queen, and became her protégé through the years. He has proven his worth in the Alliance War, rising through the ranks quickly, and is now due to lead the Wings after Sielaire is coronated. "It is good to see you again, Battlereeve."

"Likewise, ma'am." He tries and fails to keep the grin from rising to his lips. "If I may say so, the Wings miss you dearly. In fact, all of us here are volunteers."

"I see."

"This is very touching, Earilas," Ayrenn joins in. "But after the coronation, you may want to keep the sentiment until you are in private. Or at least, ask for permission to speak."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

Ayrenn smiles, and clasps him briefly on the shoulder as she addresses Sielaire. "Earilas will serve as your personal guard, as you were to me. Well…maybe not _exactly_ as you were to me, but you get the idea."

Sielaire rolls her eyes when a snicker escapes from Earilas. "Leave us, Battlereeve."

"Yes, ma'am!" The guards salute as one, and march out of the throne room in double time.

Sielaire waits for a long moment after the doors are shut, then lets out a breath. "Ayrenn…"

"Hm?"

"…Do I really need them?"

A bright grin parts Ayrenn's lips. "I believe you know the answer _very_ well, dear Battlereeve of mine."

Sielaire groans, head falling forward to rest on Ayrenn's shoulder, as her wife gives comforting pats on her back.

* * *

Six days. That's how long it took, before Sielaire found herself pressing a discrete switch in her personal study, revealing a hidden doorway set into the wooden panels of the wall.

She casts a glance back at the main door, then sneaks through the open section of the wall, entering Ayrenn's study. Closing the doorway behind her, she glances around the Empress's private sanctuary, making sure that it is empty – as it should be. Ayrenn has a meeting with the Thalmor currently, and it shouldn't be over until the evening.

Sielaire strides over to the opposite wall, and reaches for a wall sconce, giving it a firm tug. Gears grind quietly behind the wall as a tall rectangular section indents and slides aside, revealing one of the few entrances into the palace's secret passageways. She conjures a wisplight in one hand to help her navigate through the dark and narrow corridors, but she has barely taken a step through the wall when the study's door is unlocked with an audible click.

Panic floods through Sielaire's veins, and she quickly emerges from the passageway, pushing at the wall sconce with all her might to make the secret entrance close before–

"My, my." Ayrenn smiles at Sielaire, shutting the door behind herself. "Whatever are you doing, my dear Consort?"

Sielaire keeps her silence, until the section of the wall has slid back into place. "I was…going for a walk."

"Oh?" Ayrenn saunters over to her, with that knowing smile on her lips. "A walk through cold and dark tunnels?"

"The gardens. I was heading for the gardens."

"All by your lonesome?" The laughter in Ayrenn's tone is obvious. "You know, I think you forgot something _very_ important. And…Sie, it could just be me, but I _feel_ like there's something missing. I just can't put my finger on it–"

" _My guards_ , alright? I left them behind," Sielaire breaks under Ayrenn's casual 'interrogation'.

"Oh yes, I know. I saw them standing very dutifully outside your doors." Ayrenn only smiles brighter when Sielaire's expression turns all-suffering. She holds her wife gently by the arms, tugging her close. "But Sie, you cannot do this. You are much too important to be wandering around without your guards."

"Spare me the lecture, Renn," Sielaire groans.

"Now, where have I heard that before?" Her smile grows soft when Sielaire gives a quiet whine. Ayrenn cups her face in one hand, raising Sielaire's eyes to meet hers. "But I'm being serious now, my dear. We can't afford to take your safety lightly. At least, not too often," she adds with a tinge of humour.

Sielaire heaves a sigh, pressing a kiss to Ayrenn's palm. "I know. But they are so…inconvenient."

Ayrenn chuckles, nudging at her cheek. "You'll get used to it, love."

Another groan. "Can I at least stay here a while?"

"Well, of course you can. But…" Ayrenn twines their fingers together, and nods at the wall. "Wouldn't you rather go for a walk in the gardens?"

* * *

Four months before the wedding, their regalia arrives at the palace ahead of schedule, courtesy of Rilenya and her personal, tireless attention.

For Ayrenn, she has designed a dress inspired by the wedding gown worn by Ayrenn's mother, the late Kinlady Tuinden – a high-necked sleeveless dress made of the smoothest silk, dyed a deep shade of blue with golden embroidery to match her crown. Sewn into the dress's shoulders is a sheer cape that flows to the ground, with peacock feathers woven down its length in a gentle wave.

She is beautiful indeed, but Ayrenn can't keep her eyes glued to the mirror for long – not when her wife has donned her gown as well.

Sielaire wears a white off-the-shoulder dress, made of the same silk as Ayrenn's. But where Rilenya had originally designed a shawl, she has replaced it with a sheer cape similar to Ayrenn's, sewn into the back neckline of her dress. Instead of peacock feathers, tiny crystals are woven into the airy silk, and are enchanted to emit a faint, ethereal glow when they catch the light.

Ayrenn is captivated as Sielaire spins in a circle at Rilenya's urging, to demonstrate the crystals' glow. Then Ayrenn forgets to breathe when Sielaire dons her crown as well.

The Consort's crown is much like Ayrenn's, though spun in silver and gold, instead of blue. It is considerably thinner, more alike in appearance to a coronet crown, though the golden winged tips flaring at its sides effortlessly matches the Aldmeri crown in grandeur.

Ayrenn only remembers to breathe when she takes a quiet, sharp inhale upon meeting Sielaire's eyes. She cups Sielaire's face in both hands, gazing at her wife in silent wonder, and an enraptured smile slowly curves her lips.

"You're perfect," Ayrenn breathes.

* * *

The wedding.

Ayrenn has been eagerly awaiting this day, ever since she first saw Sielaire in wedding regalia.

And Sielaire? She is…

"Nervous."

Sielaire jumps, her eyes snapping open to find Alwinarwe standing with her, outside the temple's closed doors. The excited murmurs of Alinor's citizens blend into a constant buzz behind her, contributing to the haze in her mind. "I–, pardon?"

"I said, you look nervous," Alwin says with a smile. "You looked like you were trying to go into a trance."

"I'm…trying not to feel." Sielaire takes a breath, keeping her mind off the countless dignitaries inside, waiting for her entrance.

"With little success, I imagine," Alwin laughs gently, and clasps her by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Sie. You've practiced for this – flawlessly, I might add. You'll do well." When Sielaire nods, still rather uncertain, Alwin adds, "If you do feel nervous, just focus on Ayrenn. I'm sure that will do the trick."

"Okay," Sielaire breathes, which seems to amuse Alwin even more.

"I said _don't worry_ , Battlereeve. If you can win a war, you can get through your own wedding with no trouble." Alwin touches her cheek. "And look on the bright side – at least you don't have to smile for this."

That does the trick, and Sielaire breaks into a short laugh. "You've been around Ayrenn for too long, Alwin."

"We all have, my dear," Alwinarwe deadpans. "Now, I'll head in and get the ceremony started. See you on the other side…cousin."

Sielaire blinks, and watches dumbly as Alwin gives her one last smile, walking back into the temple through its side door. Alwin's little ploy worked, though – and Sielaire manages a small smile, before she drops it when a bell is rung inside the temple.

She straightens herself, holding her chin level as she hears the slight rustling of armour from the guards behind her. She thinks of the goofball Earilas marching into the temple along with her, and her nerves calm slightly as the doors are swung open. Taking care to look confident, Sielaire walks in at a slow, deliberate pace, hearing the guards' boots thud against the floor in perfect synch with each step she takes.

Sielaire keeps her hands clasped together at waist level, but her grip starts tightening under the weight of countless stares from the gathered guests. Recalling Alwin's advice, her eyes move discretely to where Ayrenn waits by the altar, that soft blue gaze akin to a loving caress, and Sielaire holds that warmth close to her heart, drawing strength from her beloved.

Soon, she reaches the middle of the aisle, where three priests await her, each carrying a small gilded brazier filled with enchanted coals. Sielaire holds her hand over the first brazier, and in a strong voice recites a mantra in old Aldmeris, before weaving a spell that lights the brazier with blue fire. She repeats the process for each brazier – lighting the fires in honour of the Divines, the ancestors, and the Aldmeri line respectively.

When she is done, the priests take their place by her sides, and escort her up the flight of steps leading to the altar, where Ayrenn moves forward to receive her. Sielaire takes her hand gratefully, feeling Ayrenn give her a light squeeze, before they hold their hands over the last brazier, reciting the one last mantra for their very own bond, and set the flame alight.

They hold in place over the benign fire, waiting for the head priest of Mara to scatter a specially-prepared mixture of glow dust over their hands, before they turn to face each other. As the dust quickly evaporates from their skin, they touch the tips of their index and middle fingers to each other's forehead, mouth, and heart – leaving a soft glow that vanishes soon after.

 _May you be true in thought and deed, and speak nothing but love for each other._

Sielaire notices the minute quirk in Ayrenn's lips, before they turn back to face the priest, who launches into a short sermon of the teachings of Mara. Having heard this so many times, Sielaire's mind turns off for a little while, but switches on again when the priest finally offers the blessings of Mara upon the couple.

A priest steps forth from the side, bearing a velvet pillow in his hands, upon which sit two identical rings of gold and inlaid platinum. Ayrenn takes the first, slipping it onto Sielaire's finger, then breaks into a _tiny_ , forbidden smile when Sielaire does the same for her.

A second priest approaches them, carrying a tray with two glasses of wine. Ayrenn and Sielaire take one each, and hold them side-by-side while the priest speaks of _'love, sweet and everlasting'_ , then entwine their arms and take a sip from their own glass.

When they return the glasses, the priest of Mara makes way for the head priest of Auri-El, who bears reverently in his hands the most important symbol for the ceremony – the Consort's crown. Sielaire bows her head in supplication as the priest bestows upon her the blessings of Auri-El, and she holds her breath as the crown is set upon her head. Sielaire swallows nervously, then straightens herself at the priest's behest.

She turns to face Ayrenn, who has taken both her hands in a gentle hold. Sielaire wishes she doesn't have to look away from those lovely blue eyes, as she leans in to meet Ayrenn's lips in a kiss – chaste and sweet. When they part, Sielaire nearly breaks into a smile. Nearly.

Hand-in-hand, they turn around to face the guests, who bow deeply to them in unison, reciting a blessing in Aldmeris.

The people of the Blessed Isles, greeting their Empress, and the newly-crowned Empress Consort.

* * *

The rest of the day following the ceremony had been _incredibly_ exhausting. They were first paraded through the entirety of Alinor, where they were finally allowed to smile and wave at their subjects cheering and celebrating on the streets. Then, they went through a few more religious rites upon returning to the palace, and had to receive a long line of nobles and officials, who've traveled from all over the Summerset Isles to pay their respects. It lasted til the evening, when it was time for a lengthy banquet – during which Sielaire had to keep even herself from drinking too much wine.

It is late into the night when Ayrenn and Sielaire take their leave of the celebrations, and retire to their chambers. But as tired as Sielaire is, she cannot rest just yet. She let herself indulge in a few kisses with Ayrenn, but insists on staying outside while her wife cleans up alone in the bathroom. Sielaire merely smiles when Ayrenn shoots her a suspicious look, and only after the bathroom's door is shut, does she spring into action.

Sielaire sheds her dress quickly, throwing on a simple shirt and pants, then digs into her personal chest for the pair of silver bracelets that she has kept carefully hidden for months. Glancing back at the bathroom door, Sielaire walks out into the terrace and slips one bracelet on, activating its enchantment.

One teleport.

Sielaire checks everything over, and is satisfied.

Another teleport, and Sielaire reappears on the bedroom's terrace, just in time to hear Ayrenn call her name. She walks in, noting the slight worry tinging Ayrenn's expression.

"I thought you went somewhere else!" Ayrenn hugs her tightly. "You had me worried."

"I'm sorry," Sielaire says with a smile, and she is distracted for a second, when she notices Ayrenn's wearing that favourite nightgown of hers. But she tears her gaze away from the sheer fabric, and holds up the second bracelet in her hand. "I have a gift for you."

"Oh?" Ayrenn smiles softly as Sielaire slips the bracelet onto her wrist. "It's beautiful, Sie."

"This isn't the gift. Just a small part of it. Hm, hold on." Sielaire goes to the wardrobe and retrieves a coat, draping it over Ayrenn's thinly-clothed shoulders.

"Is it enchanted?" Ayrenn asks, examining the bracelet with sharp eyes, before she spots Sielaire's bracelet as well. "We have a matching pair!"

"Yes, and yes." Sielaire grasps Ayrenn's hand. "It's attuned to your signature, and can only be activated by your magicka alone. Why don't you give it a try? And – close your eyes."

Ayrenn cocks her head, curiosity apparent in her smile as she watches Sielaire press a kiss to her knuckles. But she closes her eyes as instructed, and channels her magicka into the bracelet. It comes alight with a blue glow akin to Ayrenn's magicka, and a swirl of light quickly engulfs them. Within the next second, the teleport spell has delivered them to their destination.

"Open your eyes," Sielaire tells her, and Ayrenn does – to discover themselves standing on the magical glyph of a portal pad, in a small empty room.

"Where are we?" Ayrenn asks, as Sielaire takes her by the hand, guiding her out.

"In the basement." Sielaire leads Ayrenn into a lit corridor, and lets her wife poke her head through each door they come across – finding a neatly-packed storage area, a modest training quarters, and a cozy little library.

"Sie… What is this?" Ayrenn asks again with growing wonder, as they climb up the stairs into an open dining room.

"Can't you tell?" Sielaire lets Ayrenn take the lead, following her wife through the dining room and kitchen, then into the spacious living room – furnished with a sofa, armchairs, a coffee table and a rug by the fireplace. Bookshelves and paintings line the wall as well, adding a little richness to the simple setting.

"It's…a house."

"Very astute," Sielaire teases her gently, then brings her over to a window, pointing out the faint lights of the palace in the distance. "We're on a small island to the west of Alinor."

"Sie…" Ayrenn murmurs, running her fingers along the stone wall as Sielaire leads her up the staircase, towards the upper floor.

"Yes, love?"

"Is this place yours?"

Sielaire huffs in laughter as they reach the top of the stairs, then circles an arm around Ayrenn's waist. "It's _ours_ , Renn."

Ayrenn remains silent as Sielaire guides her from room to room, showing her the spare quarters, the two studies, and finally their bedroom. It's much smaller than their chambers in the palace, but still immensely comfortable for two. Sielaire leads Ayrenn onto the balcony, their hair flowing in the sea breeze as Ayrenn looks out from their house atop the hill, eyes roving over the gentle grass slopes leading up to their front door. Then she turns around to look over the sturdy house made of stone, and finally gazes back at Sielaire.

"Did you…build this?"

"Well, I _had_ it built. I certainly don't have the skill to build it with my own hands." Sielaire smiles when Ayrenn gives a snort of laughter, then wraps both arms around her wife, pulling her close. "I know how much you miss the freedom of being away from the palace, and I thought you'd like to have a place to go, whenever you need a little escape."

"You did this for me?" Ayrenn sounds breathless, in disbelief.

Sielaire nods. "I wanted to give you a little gift for our wedding. And…well, this is what I'd imagined it'd be like, when I got married. No palace, no politics, no expectations. Just a peaceful, comfortable little house, where I'd spend the rest of my days with my beloved." She strokes Ayrenn's cheek with her fingers. "Do you like it?"

"Sie–, _of course_ I like it. I _love_ it! Sie–" Ayrenn's voice catches in her throat, and her face scrunches up briefly before she surges forward to plant a kiss on Sielaire's lips – rough in her haste, soft in her affection. Ayrenn pulls away to wipe at her eyes, the hitches in breath audible in her giddy laugh. "Gods, Sie – I love you. I love you so much, I just… _Gods_ –"

"I know," Sielaire whispers, giving Ayrenn little pecks to distract her, calming her down. "I know, Renn. I know." She cups Ayrenn's face in her hands, smiling gently when her wife takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "There you go."

Ayrenn sniffs, tilting into Sielaire's touch when she runs her fingers through soft blonde hair. Ayrenn leans in to give her another kiss – slower this time, deeply, _ardently_.

"I love you, Sie. I simply, _utterly_ adore you," she murmurs against Sielaire's lips, getting a soft smile in return.

"And I love you, Ayrenn. I am yours, in heart and soul – now and forever."

* * *

 **A/N:** Sie just wants to retire to a house in the peaceful countryside and not get smacked around by gryphons. Ayrenn pls she needs a break


	10. Aldmeri - 2

It's still dark – too early to rise from bed, her subconscious knew. But the slight fidgeting to her right catches Sielaire before she drifts blissfully back to sleep. She remains still, eyes closed, feeling Ayrenn tug the covers farther from her body, exposing Sielaire's side to the night air. Already used to it, Sielaire doesn't bother trying to pull the duvet back, and instead lets her mind go blank as Ayrenn settles…for a while. Sielaire hears her wife take a deep breath, then shift around again. Rolling herself over, Sielaire drapes an arm loosely over Ayrenn, whose fidgeting subsides. She snuggles closer to Sielaire, pulling the duvet back over her wife's body. And it's with Ayrenn's arm wrapped around her waist, that Sielaire falls back into a dreamless sleep.

When she wakes again, morning sunlight is shining through the curtains, casting a comfortable glow over the room. Sielaire blinks slowly, shaking off the weight of deep sleep, as her gaze comes to rest on Ayrenn, still huddled close. Her mind rouses further with each detail she takes in – the tousled mess of pale blonde hair spilling over the pillow, the thin gown that has slipped down Ayrenn's shoulders from her rolling around in bed, the red sleep mark spanning from the corner of her mouth and up her cheek.

Yes, the love of her life looks as divine as ever.

Sielaire smiles to herself, combing back the hair covering Ayrenn's face, and touches their heads together, fingers tracing down the slope of Ayrenn's bare shoulder. Despite her wife's insistence, Ayrenn must've been exhausted last night, much like Sielaire. In addition to her duties as monarch, she's had to undergo ceremonial rites along with Sielaire, and toiled over the wedding's details with Alwinarwe, up to the very last minute. They were left feeling drained on their wedding night, and hadn't much heart to consummate their marriage right then. So the night was spent with a stroll around the island, before they lay down on green grass to gaze at the stars, until Sielaire noticed her wife's faint snoring and carried her back into the house.

She fancied seeing tired creases around Ayrenn's eyes as she lay her wife in bed, but under the morning light, Sielaire can see nothing but that same youthfulness, even in her bleary awakening. Blue eyes come to rest upon Sielaire, as she runs her fingers gently through blonde tresses, feeling a lazy caress on the exposed skin of her lower back.

"Sleep well?" Sielaire murmurs.

Ayrenn's lips curve as she hums, then nestles her head under Sielaire's chin, breathing deeply against her neck. Sielaire lets her eyes fall shut, gently stroking Ayrenn's head, dozing peacefully until she hears an indistinct mumble.

"Hm?"

"Hungry," Ayrenn mumbles.

"We can go back to the palace." Sielaire smiles at the soft whine. "Or – there's a stocked pantry here…"

Ayrenn gives a throaty laugh and pushes her onto her back, gifting a languid kiss upon her lips. "You're just precious, you know that?"

"If you say so."

"I do say so." Ayrenn kisses her again, and again, each longer and deeper than the last. Her hand travels down Sielaire's side to clutch at her thigh, and pull it to the side.

"Renn, the time," Sielaire reminds her, even as she wraps her leg around Ayrenn.

"We'll make time. Or–?" Ayrenn sits up further, cocking her head. "Can you wait?"

Sielaire takes a slow breath, eyes roving up Ayrenn's body, to where her gown has slipped even lower from her shoulders, exposing a generous bit of chest. She looks into Ayrenn's sultry gaze, that knowing smirk, and sinks her teeth into the bait.

"No."

* * *

Thanks to Ayrenn's foresight, the wedded couple has been declared indisposed for the day following their wedding. They spend the whole morning in their private lodge – though with less time in bed, and longer hours lounging by the dining table, Sielaire listening to Ayrenn's burgeoning ideas of sprucing the house up to her admittedly-royal tastes, and how they'll spend time swimming or fishing by the shore. Time passes with idle chatter and gentle caresses, and as the sun rises ever higher in the sky, they finally leave the little haven behind and return to the palace.

First, they meet up with Alwinarwe – who greets them with that ever-pleasant smile, which then curls into a light-hearted huff, as she turns down Ayrenn's offer of recounting all that had transpired the night before. They make their way towards the dining hall together, and there they wait patiently for their guests to arrive for the private luncheon.

When Sielaire's family enters the hall, they exchange customary greetings with the royals, before the formal air is broken by Rilenya running forth to embrace her sister.

"Sie!" Rilenya laughs, squeezing Sielaire tight before she draws back and teases, "Or should I say, 'Your Grace'?" She raises her voice into a fluttery pitch typical of a courtier, then giggles when Sielaire rolls her eyes and pushes her sister back in jest.

"Don't," Sielaire warns her, before turning to embrace her mother as well.

"Look at you," Lirinwe says, near breathless as she lifts her gaze to Sielaire's crown. "You have no idea how proud I am of you."

"I think I have _some_ idea," Sielaire replies.

"Mom nearly cried during the ceremony," Rilenya informs her. "Can you imagine? Making a mess of yourself at a royal wedding?"

"Oh hush." Lirinwe pries her eyes away from the crown and cups Sielaire's face, laughing softly to herself. "A royal wedding, I still can't believe it. Of all the people to elevate this family, it is the one who's always scoffed at my wishes."

"Of course she scoffed, mom. You weren't aiming high enough!" Rilenya says. "Why just be nobility, when you can seduce the queen and take the throne for yourself?"

Sielaire raises her brows. "I did _not_ seduce her."

"Oh, she most certainly did." Ayrenn wears a smirk as she joins them, leaving Sielaire's father and brother to speak with Alwin. "Walking around in camp, all sweaty and flushed from training, with her arms bare for the whole world to see? I'd say it was on purpose–" Ayrenn gives a crude giggle-snort when Sielaire pinches her nose tight, eliciting a shocked gasp from her mother.

"Sie!" Lirinwe slaps at Sielaire's wrist, but is only given a droll stare in reply. "Unhand her! She is the Queen–, the _Empress_ –"

"And I'm her wife," Sielaire says flatly, letting Ayrenn go. A fond smile breaks through her placid expression when Ayrenn pecks her on the lips, then leads a flustered Lirinwe over to the table. Sielaire follows behind them, listening to Ayrenn compliment Lirinwe's new dress as they approach the dining table together, where the rest have taken their seats. But she has barely begun to sit down, when the doors are cracked open to admit an attendant, who announces the arrival of an unexpected guest.

Sielaire shares a surprised glance with Ayrenn, who rises from her seat just as Razum-dar strolls in, and sweeps smoothly into a bow.

"A very good afternoon to you, my distinguished friends," Raz purrs, straightening himself with a flourish. He walks forward to meet with Ayrenn – and Sielaire notices a wriggling lump in the buttoned-up front of his black coat. "Ah, kitten," he says, clasping Ayrenn's hands with his own. "Raz is sorry for not showing up after the ceremony last night. He was very busy, you understand."

"Of course, Raz."

"But he is here now, and he has gifts for you." Razum-dar looks over at Sielaire with a knowing glint in his eye. He unfastens the first two buttons of his coat, and reaches in for the moving, _mewling_ lump.

Sielaire's eyes grow wide when Raz pulls out a fluffy white and grey-striped kitten, with the roundest green eyes that melt her heart in an instant.

"Oh, Raz," Ayrenn sighs as Sielaire takes the kitten reverently from him. "Not another one."

"Yes, another one. He knows how much Sielaire loves them, so he got her a new one," Raz says proudly, with hands on his hips. "Oh, this one is still young, but don't worry. Raz has already spent the last few months rubbing its little bum, feeding it, teaching it manners and rules and everything. So you don't have to worry about a naughty little kitten running about the palace."

"Other than you?" Ayrenn says drily.

"Other than Raz."

"Thank you, Raz." Sielaire says – and it's quite a feat in itself, given how absorbed in her new gift she is. And as she fiddles with the kitten trying to climb onto her dress, Raz picks out a rectangular box from his pocket, handing it over to Ayrenn.

"For this, Ayrenn, you might want to turn away from dearest Alwinarwe before you open it." He winks at the Proxy Queen, who squints at him from where she sits by the table.

"Whatever could this be," Ayrenn muses loudly enough for Alwin to hear, as she and Raz turn their backs to her, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Sielaire joins them as well, peering over their shoulders as Ayrenn lifts the lid, revealing a sleek, black enamel…handle? Both mer tilt their heads curiously as Ayrenn takes it, examining the elaborate golden filigree of eagles in flight.

"Careful." Raz adjusts the handle, so Ayrenn is holding it horizontally across her palm. "Now, flick the catch on the side."

Ayrenn thumbs the catch, and wicked sharp blades snap out from both ends of the handle, with a distinctive _fwing_.

"Is that a knife?" Alwinarwe says when she hears it. "You gave her a _knife_ as a wedding gift?"

"No," Raz drawls, deliberately unconvincing. "It is a beautiful…miniature sword." He smiles when Alwin sighs audibly.

"Raz, this…it's the one we saw in Rimmen, isn't it?" Ayrenn flips the dagger between her fingers easily. "This design is different, but the make is exactly the same. I wanted this, but didn't have the gold on me to buy it…"

"And this one remembers how heartbroken you were. So he had one custom-made for you."

"That was over a _decade_ ago." Ayrenn sheathes the dagger's blades, and smiles at Raz. She bends down to place a kiss on his cheek and hugs him, murmuring a short sentence in Khajiiti.

Razum-dar raises his brows in surprise, gaze softening as he embraces his old friend, tail swaying behind him when he lets go with a faintly sheepish expression. "You're welcome, kitten," he replies, scratching at his head. Then Raz turns his gaze towards the table, eyes coming alight with glee. "Ah, Alwin! Raz doesn't want you to feel left out!"

"Lucky for you, I do not," Alwinarwe deadpans as he pads over to her.

"Here, he has a gift for you too!" Raz plucks a small vial from one of his numerous pockets. "Raz knows you like perfumes."

"It wouldn't happen to be a Khajiiti perfume, would it," Alwin replies, still in that flat tone. "One that will attract all the cats in the neighbourhood?"

"Of course not. If Raz had such a perfume, he'd give it to Sielaire. Not you."

Ayrenn chuckles along with the family, as Sielaire blushes and turns her head back, getting a gentle peck on her lips. Smiling and lowering her gaze from Ayrenn, Sielaire watches the little kitten pawing at her hair and chin, mewing loudly up at her.

"Promise me that'll be the last one for a while?" Ayrenn asks.

Sielaire huffs. "Promise."

* * *

Raz had to leave before they started the luncheon, and Alwinarwe had duties to attend after, so the wedded couple was left alone with Sielaire's family, showing them around the palace grounds and introducing the nobles they came across. And after an excellent dinner in the evening, the family took their leave for the day, and retired to the empty townhouse in Alinor that Ayrenn had provided for their short stay in the capital.

It's been a relaxing day, and a much needed one – they will be returning to their duties tomorrow, and no doubt be kept busier for a while yet. In fact, the two have been discussing their schedules and the numerous petitions lined up for their attention, when someone knocks on the door of Ayrenn's study.

"Come in, dear," Ayrenn calls, already knowing who is outside. And sure enough, Alwinarwe enters the room, with an elegant leather valise in her hands. "Alwin, you've had a long day. Why aren't you resting yet?"

"Because I haven't given your gifts." She raises the valise.

"Oh, a luggage! What a nice thought," Ayrenn croons. "We can use that for our royal tour!"

"My dear cousin, I appreciate your keeping the suspense, but please. Not so dense." Alwin sighs when Ayrenn nudges her cheek. She sets the valise down on Ayrenn's table, releases the clasps and lifts the lid, pulling out a beautiful long coat, dyed a deep grey. "This is for you, Ayrenn. And yes, it's for your tour."

"That looks _wonderful_ ," Ayrenn gushes, slipping it on with Alwin's help. She fastens the silver clasps, and it's obvious that the coat has been tailor-made for the monarch, fitting her shoulders and torso perfectly while the fabric flows smoothly down to her knees. "And it's so comfortable too. It's perfect, Alwin. Just like you," Ayrenn coos, pecking her cousin on both cheeks, before squeezing her tightly in a hug.

Alwinarwe looks less than convinced by the compliment, but accepts her gratitude nonetheless. Then she reaches into the valise again and pulls out a dark green leather jerkin, handing it to Sielaire.

"Feel it," Alwin instructs, guiding Sielaire's fingers so she holds the leather between her fingertips, and her eyes widen in surprise.

"It's very sturdy," Sielaire comments.

"There's a _very_ fine mesh of quicksilver woven beneath the leather," Alwin explains as she puts the jerkin on Sielaire as well. "I know you're still a soldier at heart. And this will protect you whenever that one–" She nods at Ayrenn. "–drags you into trouble again."

"Alwin, we're going on a tour," Ayrenn laughs. "I don't think we'd have much chance to get ourselves into trouble."

"Yes, but Sielaire has told me all about the adventures you had during your honeymoon. So I thought it prudent not to take any chances with you."

"Thank you, Alwin," Sielaire says before Ayrenn can retort. "I'd say I'll put it to good use, but I'd rather not."

"That is good to hear." Alwin gives her a smile, then looks pointedly at Ayrenn, who only rolls her eyes fondly.

"Speaking of our trip," Ayrenn drawls, nudging at Sielaire. "Don't you have a favour to ask of Alwin dearest?"

"Oh." Sielaire walks quickly over to the fireplace, and scoops up the smallest furball curled up beside the fire. The kitten wiggles in Sielaire's hands and yawns as she carries it over, and it peers up at Alwinarwe curiously when Sielaire holds it up. "Would you mind taking care of this one for us, while we're gone?"

Alwin raises a brow. "Couldn't you ask an attendant to do it? Or your family?"

"It's still young. And we thought you'd like to have it as a companion while we're away."

"Come on, Alwin. It's been years, and I've never seen you play with a single cat around the palace," Ayrenn says.

"I've never bothered with them. But now it seems I'll have to, doesn't it?" Alwin sighs again, taking the kitten gingerly into her own hands.

"Don't worry," Sielaire assures her. "You won't have much trouble with her. Winnie's usually well-behaved."

"…Winnie," Alwin repeats. "You named this kitten…'Winnie'." She stares at the couple, obviously on the verge of yet another sigh. "It's not because I am–"

"It _is_ because you're the one who'll be taking care of it," Ayrenn confirms cheekily.

"How do I already know _you're_ the one who named it?" Alwin replies, holding the kitten to her chest when it attempts to crawl out of her grasp.

"Your sharp, flawless intuition?"

Alwin nods slowly. "I suppose it's a good complement to my infinite patience."

* * *

And it is Alwinarwe, with her infinite patience, who sticks by the royal couple's side for the busy months that followed, taking on most of the responsibility in governing the Summerset Isles, while Ayrenn and Sielaire deals with the rest of Tamriel from their seat in Alinor. In the future, they will split their time between Alinor's throne and the Ruby Throne in Cyrodiil – but since Ayrenn has decreed that the province shall be rebuilt before the throne room, for the sake of the people's welfare, that future may not come too soon yet.

Still, they manage affairs well from the Alinor palace, and through the long months, they're able to guide the slow rebuilding of Tamriel. At the same time, the royal couple receives numerous invitations from the various provinces, which are eager to host their visit during their tour around Tamriel. The influx of information and obligations is neverending, and at times, it seems to pile on faster than they're able to resolve each issue.

For Sielaire, it's nearly suffocating – the weight of the crown is a hundred times heavier than the rank of battlereeve. But she learns and adapts, with no small amount of help from Ayrenn, who is accustomed to such a lifestyle, and even paces Sielaire so she won't be overwhelmed.

Despite Ayrenn's apparent ease, however, Sielaire does pay attention to her wife as well – no matter how the Empress makes it seem, she is still a mer beneath that indomitable façade. So it worries Sielaire a little when she finds Ayrenn standing alone in the garden terrace at night, both hands resting on the balustrade as she gazes quietly out at the Isle.

Walking up behind her, Sielaire wraps Ayrenn in a firm embrace, kissing her on the cheek. "You'll catch a cold like this," she murmurs, rubbing at Ayrenn's arms, left exposed by the thin shift she wears.

Ayrenn hums a single note, then rests her head against Sielaire's, letting out a slow breath.

"Tired?" Sielaire asks, and she nods. "You look…strained. Sure you don't want to get away?"

"Yes," Ayrenn replies quietly. "I'd like to stay grounded for a while."

"You _have_ been grounded for a while. We both have," Sielaire points out, getting a soft chuckle from her wife.

"Yes, we have." Ayrenn closes her eyes briefly, running her fingers over Sielaire's arm. "The last time we were there, in our own little paradise… Would you believe it made me want to run away again?"

"Hardly a rare occurrence," Sielaire says, getting a louder laugh this time.

"You have a point." Ayrenn breathes in, and exhales again. "But the last time, it was…serious, I think. I wanted to just up and leave. Steal you away quietly in the night, and make a life away from the Isles. Let Alwin govern the Empire instead."

"She'd sooner set up bounties for you than take the Ruby Throne in your stead."

Ayrenn laughs again. "That's true. Even she knows what the Throne entails."

 _That's not what I meant_ , Sielaire wants to say, but Ayrenn seems to have her own matters in mind. Turning around in Sielaire's hold, Ayrenn slings both arms around her neck, gazing at her quietly.

"Sometimes, I feel guilty for piling these burdens onto your shoulders as well," Ayrenn whispers.

"I barely feel the weight when I'm with you," Sielaire says, a gentle smile on her lips.

"Please. Your frown when you sit in the throne is telling enough."

A moment's thought, then Sielaire relents with a sigh. "Maybe I do feel it. But it does come with its benefits, does it not?" Her smile turns playful at Ayrenn's curious look. "I get to eat the richest food, wear the fanciest clothes, live in a luxurious palace…" She pulls Ayrenn even closer, so they stand chest-to-chest. "Sleep with the most exquisite woman in Tamriel…"

Ayrenn throws her head back in a laugh, slapping at Sielaire's shoulder. "Oh, your tongue is getting more delightful, my love."

"Is it," Sielaire breathes, leaning in to catch her in a slow kiss. When they part, Ayrenn's gaze has grown soft, the tension in her face fallen away – forgotten, for the moment. "I've told you, dearest. I would do anything to be with you. I have no regrets, Renn, and neither should you."

Ayrenn stares at her for a long moment, then sighs through a wan smile, resting their foreheads together. "It'll take me a while to believe, but…I will."

Feeling an ache in her chest, Sielaire gives Ayrenn a moment of solace, rubbing soothingly at the small of her back, until she lifts her eyes to meet Sielaire's. Ayrenn brushes her thumb over the scar on Sielaire's mouth, and kisses her softly – a promise, a simple expression of love.

* * *

 **A/N:** And...with that, I've set the background for 'Aldmeri'. There'll be a major timeskip in the next chapter, where we'll arrive at the main reason why I started this arc, and shit will get a little real...very briefly. (No ouchies, promise ;D)


	11. Aldmeri - 3

**Context:** It's 100 years since Sielaire's coronation in the last chapter.

* * *

Thick tufts of blonde hair kissed by starlight, warmer than Ayrenn's pale shade. Round eyes of a blue to rival the sparkling waters of the Blessed Isles. Slightly thinner than ideal, to be pampered away by her family – though it does emphasise the sharper features of her chin and straight nose.

 _She is beautiful_ , Ayrenn muses to herself, a gentle smile on her lips as she cradles the baby in her arms. Only a month old, yet she looks every bit the role she is destined for.

Ayrenn offers a finger to the child, who grasps onto it instinctively, blinking up at her. The girl lets out a short giggle when Ayrenn tickles her little infant ears, still furled neatly at the sides of her head, like flower buds yet to bloom. _Oh little one_ , Ayrenn sighs, kissing the girl's forehead as she yawns and smacks her lips. _How is it that I already love you so?_

Placing the child's hand back into the blanket, Ayrenn pats her gently and looks up at Sielaire, who is watching her with the softest tenderness in her eyes. Ayrenn smiles at her wife, then looks over at her cousin, who nods and walks to the dais by her side. She waits for Ciryendur to call the attention of the nobles gathered within his great hall, all eyes turning to the Empress as she steps forth to speak.

"I hereby name Astaire, daughter of Kinlord Ciryendur, thrice-blessed by the stars on her birth – Aldmeri. First of my blood, heir to the throne of Alinor, and the Ruby Throne of our noble Empire."

* * *

Sielaire makes a personal note on her parchment – already filled with dozens of other notes she's jotted down throughout the course of this dreary court meeting. Then she reads over the copy of Alik'r's trade proposal again, as Ayrenn gives a brief sigh of frustration and speaks.

"Councilor, remember that the Redguard are a proud people. That they would offer such specialty goods for trade is a concession in itself, and imposing higher taxes will only be seen as an insult by–"

The doors to the council room burst open then, without so much as a warning, but the irritated glances shot in its direction are quickly replaced by surprise, when a young Altmer scout stumbles in. He looks all the worse for wear, the leathers of his uniform dirty and bloodied, his face haggard with dark shadows under his eyes. He disregards the entire Council and rushes for Ayrenn, only to be tackled to the floor by two Prosecution guards who've chased in after him.

"Your Majesty!" he cries, breathless under the weight of armoured bodies pinning him to the floor. "Please! We–, we need aid–, Kinlord– There's an attack–"

Sielaire raises a hand and waves away the guards, who appear hesitant to do so, but rise to their feet nonetheless. As they bow and retreat a few paces, the frantic scout scrambles to his knees, keeping his head low before the Empress.

"Breathe, child," Ayrenn says, leaning forward in her seat. "Catch your breath, and say it again – clearly."

"I–, yes." He takes a few hurried gasps of air, sweat rolling down his face. "Your Majesty, please forgive my rude intrusion," he says between breaths, more coherent now. "My lord Ciryendur's Kinhouse is under attack, and our estate was still under siege when he dispatched me to Alinor. He requests aid, for Lillandril's guard is unable to support our defenses. _Please_ ," he nearly sobs. "The situation is desperate, Your Majesty. We're barely holding on."

"I understand." Ayrenn looks to Sielaire, sharing her panic in but a single glance.

"I will lead the Wings to Lillandril." Sielaire rises quickly from her chair, and gestures at the scout still kneeling on the floor. "Follow me," she commands, sweeping out of the room without backward glance.

* * *

Sielaire's military uniform has been redesigned since her coronation – its thick cloths replaced by full leathers, supplemented with sturdy quicksilver armour over her limbs and shoulders, which still bear her distinctive heavy bracer and winged pauldron. And, of course, a single scarf around the neck, which can be drawn over the head as a hood.

Though her new uniform has quite a few more pieces than the former, and she's only worn it sparingly over the past century, Sielaire dons her combat gear with disciplined speed; and she has gone to the stables to retrieve her horse, when Ayrenn hurries in with a worried expression.

"Sie, remember: the family is priority. And the baby, especially."

"Of course," Sielaire replies, checking the horse's saddle is secure, before she turns to face her wife, who's wringing her hands unconsciously. "Don't worry, Renn. I'll handle this."

Ayrenn nods as Sielaire cups her face, reassuring her with a kiss. "Stay safe, beloved," Ayrenn murmurs. "Auri-El's light guide your steps."

* * *

The Kinhouse of Lord Ciryendur is a large castle estate, over an hour's travel from the city of Lillandril. Though majority of Kinship are scattered about the Isles and Tamriel on business, the Kinlord still maintains a sizeable residence for his extended family, as well as the loyal vassals in his service. Their estate is well-fortified against both land and naval attacks – due to its proximity to the coast – and just their solid stone walls alone are able to make Sielaire feel safe during her visits to the estate.

That's why she is surprised to arrive at the Lillandril guard's camp outside the kinhouse, only to discover that the invaders have seized full control of the estate, expelling all the Kinship's soldiers so they can focus their efforts on breaching its interior.

The attack was sudden, says the Kinhouse's ranking officer, and their attackers poured through select weak points in the estate to overwhelm their defenses easily. He suspects an inside job, and Sielaire is inclined to agree – though she bids her people leave the guesswork for another day. They have a more important mission to accomplish.

After poring through a drafted map of the estate and all the damage it suffered, Sielaire weighs the officer's guess at their enemies' numbers, and decides on a direct approach to their problem. With Earilas at her side, she gathers the full contingent of Wings and marches on the main path up to the estate, with the tired and depleted Kinhouse guards following behind them.

As they draw close, Sielaire can spot the numerous fighters posted along the walls, and she brings her troops to a halt as she conjures a large barrier to block the initial flurry of arrows and spells aimed at them.

"Did they really think that would work?" Earilas deadpans beside her, drawing his sword.

"They're testing us. Barriers, up!" Sielaire barks, and their mages conjure a barrier to replace hers, as Earilas commands their infantry to move up, forming the forward lines of their contingent. "March!"

The soldiers march as one around Sielaire and Earilas, their barrier holding up perfectly against the increasingly urgent fire from their foes. Gathering her own magicka, Sielaire shouts, "Archers, shields, at ready! On my command – barriers, down!"

The mages drop their barriers as the infantry heft their shields up, to protect the Wings' archers launching their first volley of arrows towards the walls. Only a few of their enemies fall under the attack, while the rest duck behind cover – but that's just what Sielaire has intended.

She gathers even more power in the reservoir of magicka within her, and when their foes rise to answer with another wave of spells and arrows, she lets loose. A lightning storm surges from her hands, splitting the air with a sharp crackle as it meets the first bodies on the wall, then jumps from target to target, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. And when it has dissipated, nothing rises from the destructive onslaught; a certain silence falls over their troops.

But Sielaire readies her soldiers as they march onward, drawing her own sword as the castle gates part, their enemies flooding through with spears and swords at ready. Lifting her blade to the air, Sielaire roars, " _Charge!_ "

With a howled battle cry, the troops rush at the castle's gates, barely slowing down as Sielaire and the mages rain spells on the enemy's ranks, weakening them to allow the infantry an easy charge through their defenses. Under Sielaire's direction, the Wings are able to push the enemy into the courtyard, where they are driven into a corner and cut down despite their fierce resistance.

But even with the courtyard secured, the mission has not yet ended. Sielaire splits her troops to perform sweeps across the vast estate, searching for any survivors from the kinship, and to remove all invaders still standing on kinhouse grounds. Sielaire and Earilas tackle the main castle from the west and east wings respectively, clearing each floor of their foes, until they've successfully cornered the invaders' commander in the castle's great chamber. They dispatch his lackeys easily, but Sielaire makes sure to leave the commander alive, taking him prisoner. He merely answers her questions with a gob of bloodied spittle on the floor, and Sielaire rolls her eyes, ordering her soldiers to toss him into the dungeons until further notice.

Then, it's only a matter of waiting for her troops to report their success, while she digs through the documents in the chamber, looking for clues as to why the Kinhouse has been attacked in the first place. But her search is cut short when Earilas – who had gone to check on the Wings personally – returns and requests her urgent attention. He leads her down the east wing towards the temple, and her heart leaps at the sound of a baby's cry.

They enter the temple to find bodies lying on the floor, wearing both kinship colours and the invaders' mercenary uniforms. But they hold little interest for Sielaire, who kneels beside the Kinlady's body, uttering a short prayer as she closes the woman's eyes. Then she rises to her feet, and focuses instead on the bundle lying at the foot of the shrine to Auri-El, the baby within wailing in _very_ hoarse voice.

 _Astaire_.

She is just within reach of the soldiers standing around the shrine, but there is one significant problem – the shimmering barrier that separates the child from them.

"We've tried breaching the barrier, but it stands firm against weapons and magic alike," Earilas explains. "Marshal, the kinhouse was besieged for days. There's no telling when the baby was last fed. It'll be dangerous for her if we don't get her out soon."

Sielaire frowns and approaches the barrier herself. She looks at the baby, noticing the faint glow beneath her blanket, wondering if that's the source of the barrier. Then she raises a hand cautiously, first resting her fingertips on the barrier, then pressing her palm fully against it, feeling the mute hum of magic against her skin. Sielaire starts to summon her own magicka to try overpowering the barrier, but she's given pause when the barrier beneath her fingers begins to glow. The royal signet ring on Sielaire's finger grows warm, and the gleam from the baby's blanket grows brighter, as the glow from Sielaire's hand spreads and encompasses the barrier in its entirety. The glow intensifies to a blinding golden radiance, then dissipates along with the barrier.

Sielaire doesn't wait to ponder the barrier's workings, and quickly moves forward to pick Astaire up from the floor. The baby is squirming mightily, face screwed up as she continues to cry her heart out. Sielaire casts a restoration spell to soothe any discomfort Astaire may be feeling, and the girl's wails slowly fade into sobs, until she gazes up at Sielaire through wet eyes. Astaire grabs onto Sielaire's little finger as she reaches into the blanket, pulling out a folded note along with the pendant hung around baby's neck, bearing the Kinship's winged emblem.

She unfolds the small parchment and reads, _'Only those of the blood, old and true, shall lay their hands on the last of our line.'_

A sob distracts Sielaire, and she looks up to find Astaire's features scrunched up again, on the verge of another cry. So she picks a trick from Ayrenn's book, and summons a swirl of twinkling stars about her hand – an illusion that her wife loves to use while playing with the child. Astaire is taken in by the display as always, her little fingers twitching towards the stars as if to touch them.

Sielaire smiles wanly at the girl, and cradles Astaire close to her chest, carrying the child away from the place of violence that was her home.

* * *

The Wings set up camp in the estate's barracks, while they gather the bodies of fallen kinsmen and preserve them for a proper funeral later. Most of her soldiers are tasked with clean-up duty – aided by the extra personnel sent by Lillandril's canonreeve – while a select few scour the castle's rooms for documents which may reveal the motive of the attack, or even its source. Information has been scarce so far, but some of Ayrenn's Eyes arrived the very evening they'd retaken the kinhouse, and set to work immediately.

For Sielaire, most of her responsibilities involve the estate's logistics, as well as communication with the canonreeve and the empress herself. She is in the barracks office, writing up a single comprehensive report on the events that have transpired and the investigation after, when there is a knock on the door.

"Come in," Sielaire says, looking up only when the door has been shut, and is surprised by the Proxy Queen standing before her. "Alwin." She rises from her chair, clasping Alwinarwe's hands.

"It is good to find you unharmed," Alwin says with a gentle smile, her gaze moving to the cradle near Sielaire's desk. "Ah, and the princess as well." She approaches the cradle and peers in, patting Astaire gently while she sleeps. "Why is she here with you? What of her family? I left Alinor just after the first reports came in, so I…"

Sielaire shakes her head. "They're all dead. We found her father and brother's bodies among the soldiers. Her mother was with her, but fell while trying to protect her."

A frown creases Alwin's forehead. "A tragedy," she laments. "And at such a young age." Alwin falls silent in a moment of grief.

Sielaire allows her some time to herself, then asks, "Why are you here, Alwin?"

"To help smooth things over, of course." Alwin takes a breath and straightens herself, moving away from the crib. "I'll stay here and put the estate back in order, while you bring this one good news back to Alinor."

"Ah. How are things back home?"

Alwin lets out a tired huff. "How can they be? Ayrenn is furious. The entire palace is treading on eggshells around her. The sooner you return with Astaire, the better."

"I understand." Sielaire sinks heavily back into her seat, pulling another chair over for Alwin. "She could get… _intense_ during our expedition in Cyrodiil as well. When she's angry, the whole camp acts as if there's a hungry tiger in our midst."

"Really." Alwin regards her quietly, then raises a brow. "Should I even ask if you _liked_ it?"

Sielaire wonders at Alwin's question, then becomes aware of the faint smile on her own lips. She drops it immediately, holding an impassive expression…that is broken within moments by another, sheepish smile.

* * *

Sielaire stays at the kinhouse for a few more days, helping Alwin settle a few critical matters before she travels to Alinor with only half of her Wings – leaving the rest behind as Alwin's personal guard, in case anything happens while she's there.

They make quick time to the capital, and within three days, Sielaire is finally striding down the palace's halls with the princess cradled in her arms. Astaire is awake, and though she glances up at Sielaire from time to time, she's mostly interested in Sielaire's scarf clutched tightly in her hand. She sticks the end of the scarf into her mouth, then giggles through the clean fabric when she receives tickles on her stomach. Sielaire smiles down at the four-month-old, but the joy she feels is slightly dampened when she reaches the door of Ayrenn's office.

She waits for the guard to knock and announce her arrival, then enters the room to find Ayrenn engaged in a discussion with Cariel – the new commander of the Queen's Eyes, after Razum-dar had retired and passed at a ripe old age. Ayrenn glances at Sielaire, then issues the last orders to her trusted Eye – "Continue your investigations. I want every last one of them hunted down and in our custody."

Cariel salutes, then bows to Sielaire before leaving the office. When the door is shut, Sielaire moves forward and hands the baby over to Ayrenn.

"Have you found who's responsible?"

"No," Ayrenn says tersely. "We only know their targets were the family…and Astaire. They're a coordinated group, and have covered their tracks well. Too well." She sighs sharply and shakes her head, calming herself down with considerable effort. Ayrenn smiles down at Astaire, planting a kiss on the girl's forehead, and another on her wife's lips. "Thank you, love. Only you could've resolved this so efficiently."

"Not quickly enough," Sielaire replies.

"You did your best. The rest…was just fate." Ayrenn lets out a slow breath, pacing a short circuit before her desk, as she rocks Astaire gently in her arms. "Sielaire, I've been thinking. Alwin will instate a new Kinlord in Lillandril soon, but…" Her expression turns mournful as she gazes at Astaire, who's grasping clumsily at her turquoise pendant. "I feel that I should…"

Ayrenn seems to lose her breath, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at Sielaire. "I would like raise Astaire as my own – as our daughter. Would you be willing?"

"Of course," Sielaire says gently. "Do you even have to ask?"

Ayrenn smiles, and presses a kiss to her cheek. She adjusts her hold on Astaire when the girl squirms, then offers her fingers for Astaire to play with. "To think, we've been searching for a way to have a child together… Only to have one dropped into our lap, just like that."

Her smile falls away despite her words, and she bites on her downturned lip. Sielaire embraces her, Ayrenn leaning into her warmth gratefully while Astaire burbles between them, blissfully unaware of the sombre air around her.

* * *

Reclining in the bathtub with a sigh, Sielaire closes her eyes as she soaks in warm water infused with scented bath salts – a much-needed luxury after a long day filled with intermittent headaches. The tension in her muscles slowly melts away, and Sielaire's heavy head drifts into drowsiness, on the brink of falling asleep when she hears the door opening.

She forces her eyes open to watch Ayrenn walk in, and sit on the stool by the tub without a word. Sielaire waits for Ayrenn to say something, or even raise her eyes for some sort of contact, but Ayrenn stays motionless.

"Darling?" Sielaire tries, and is met with silence. When Ayrenn rests a hand on the edge of the tub, Sielaire covers it with her own, fingers curling over Ayrenn's. "Renn? Is…Astaire asleep?" She tries to make light conversation, and Ayrenn responds with a nod this time.

"Tried to stay awake for a while, but she's sleeping now." Ayrenn's voice is flat, and she stares at the floor longer, before raising her gaze to meet Sielaire's. "I made a mistake."

"Renn–"

"I shouldn't have announced Astaire's status so quickly. I was just so… _eager_ , I didn't give a thought to the consequences."

"That's nonsense, dear. And you know it," Sielaire says, worried but unsurprised that Ayrenn is still conflicted, two weeks after the attack. Her wife has been subdued since then, and refused to speak of her troubles until now. "Renn, listen to me. You and I have discussed this extensively with Ciryendur. We have prepared for the consequences. We just…didn't expect such an extreme."

"But I should have," Ayrenn replies, obviously refusing to listen. "Even Alwin–, she tried to tell me to wait, but I didn't listen to her when I _should have_." She rests her head in one hand, while the other tightens its grip over Sielaire's fingers. "I'm so brash, Sie. Even after a _century_ , I'm still too brash. And now, I've brought harm upon my family again."

"Renn, beloved. Listen." Sielaire grasps Ayrenn's chin to raise her wife's gaze – her hand is still dripping wet, but she stays in place nonetheless. "If they were this bold to openly assault the Kinhouse, your timing wouldn't matter. You could announce it a year, or a decade from now, and they would still have done the same. I know you feel guilt over Astaire's family – I do, too. But you cannot blame yourself for _everything_ that has happened."

Tears fall from Ayrenn's eyes, and she wipes at them roughly. "It doesn't matter now, does it?" Ayrenn says bitterly. "All I have to do is pick up the pieces again."

"Yes," Sielaire whispers, helpless when Ayrenn's troubled expression lingers. "You will learn, and you will rebuild. And I'll be here with you, every step of the way."

"As always." Ayrenn smiles, sniffing thickly. "Astaire… I'll make it up to her."

"We both will."

* * *

"Look, Astaire," Ayrenn croons to the child in her arms, and Astaire's eyes whip over to Ayrenn at the mention of her name, bringing a smile to her mother's lips. "Not me, darling. See?" Ayrenn turns on the spot, so Astaire can look at the monarch butterfly without turning her head too much. "That's a butterfly. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Bah," Astaire coos, as she reaches out with a chubby little hand, grasping at the air in her attempts to catch the butterfly. It flaps around them in circles, then lands on top of Astaire's blonde locks, before it's scared away by the girl's excited squeal.

"Ah, ah. Careful now." Ayrenn hugs the girl more securely to her chest, when Astaire tries leaning out farther. She grins when the girl hugs about her neck in return, and she pecks Astaire on the cheek.

It's only been two months, but Ayrenn already finds herself utterly devoted to the child. She's never thought it possible to love someone so completely, in such a short span of time, but Astaire has proven her wrong. Her daughter's smiles and laughs never fail to brighten even the hardest days, and to have Astaire reaching out for her with that happy gaze, is perhaps one of the greatest rewards that Ayrenn will cherish forever.

"Come, dear," Ayrenn says. "Let's go back inside, see if mama's done making dinner."

"Mah," Astaire repeats, twirling Ayrenn's hair around her fingers as her mother walks up the grass slope to their house, Ayrenn hugging her tighter to keep her warm amid the island's stronger winds.

Once inside, Ayrenn's mouth starts to water from the aroma wafting from the kitchen, and she hears Astaire sniff at the air as well. So she carries the girl into the kitchen, where Astaire's excited burble attracts a glance from Sielaire.

"There's my little Star," Sielaire croons as they join her by the stove. She kisses Astaire on the nose, getting a giggle from the child. "Enjoyed your walk?"

Ayrenn smiles to herself as Sielaire tickles under Astaire's chin, causing the girl's hands to flail in glee. Sielaire has taken to motherhood with much more ease than Ayrenn expected – in fact, she was more adept than Ayrenn in the beginning. Sielaire's had more experience with babies, having cared for her infant brother and sister years ago, and she always knows what to do whenever Astaire kicks up a fuss and refuses to settle down. Of course, there are times when Astaire confounds Sielaire as well, but she and Ayrenn are always quick to learn and adapt to their daughter's needs. It's safe to say that Astaire has been nothing but happy in their care, so far – a fact that Ayrenn takes pride in.

"Here, I've finished with your apple mash." Sielaire scoops up a small serving of mash with the baby spoon, and brings it up to Astaire's mouth. "Ah."

"Ah!" Astaire opens her mouth wide and chomps onto the spoon, clamping her lips on it playfully, until her mothers are able to coax her into freeing the spoon.

"You naughty little girl." Sielaire tweaks her nose, getting a toothless smile from Astaire.

"Need any help, love?" Ayrenn asks.

"No, just have a seat. I'll be done soon." Sielaire waves her away, turning back to the stove.

So Ayrenn moves to the dining table, where she lowers Astaire into the highchair, and gives her a wooden spoon to play with – which naturally finds its way into her mouth. Astaire's been showing signs of teething, and has developed a penchant for sucking or biting on anything she can get her hands on – so they've gathered a collection of clean toys for the girl to do just so, the wooden spoon being one of them.

Ayrenn chuckles when Astaire accidentally drops the spoon onto her small table, and it's just then that Sielaire appears with their food – a bowl of apple mash and a bottle of milk for Astaire, and two plates of baked fish and vegetables for the adults. When it becomes apparent that Astaire has more interest in the mash first, Sielaire picks up the baby spoon to feed her, so that Ayrenn can start eating first.

But she doesn't – not immediately. She watches as Sielaire plays 'catch the bird' with Astaire, flying the spoon around before she lets Astaire 'catch' it in her mouth. Sielaire feeds her slowly, despite Astaire's constant babbles for more while her mouth is still full, and she makes sure to wipe off any food caught on Astaire's face after each spoonful. Sielaire's quite engrossed in the task at hand – at least, until she notices Ayrenn's gaze, and her untouched plate.

"Aren't you hungry?" Sielaire asks, feeding Astaire another spoonful before Ayrenn grasps her chin, and pulls her in for a kiss.

"I love you," Ayrenn murmurs.

Sielaire tilts her head. "It's not because I cook for you, is it," she deadpans – a tease that they've never grown tired of over the years.

"Partly, yes," Ayrenn replies.

Sielaire huffs, lips parting in a smile as she meets Ayrenn in another gentle kiss. "I love you too."

* * *

 **A/N:** Yep, major timeskip because I want Astaire's age young enough that she can inherit the throne at just the right age. (Though it's just detail-picking on my part and probably won't matter much anyway LMAO cough) The rest of 'Aldmeri' will continue from here.

And… _I'm very sorry about catman plsforgive_


	12. Aldmeri - 4

" _Another_ invitation to a festival? They just had one last month."

"Ma–ah."

"It's like they're intent on getting at least one monarch high on moon sugar," Sielaire mutters, bouncing the seven-month-old in her lap absentmindedly. She sets the letter aside and pulls her own parchment over, dipping her quill in the inkpot. "Who should we send this time, Star?"

Sielaire bends her head down, listening to Astaire babble in reply, while little fingers grab at her hair. "Oh yes, I think sending another Khajiit representative would be good. But, you know, we _could_ send your aunt Alwin this time. She's never been to a Khajiiti festival before." Sielaire smiles at Astaire's giggle. "Of course, she'll probably find another good reason to wriggle out of this."

Astaire clutches onto Sielaire's dress as she receives a kiss on her forehead, and gives a laugh that exposes the single tooth that she's successfully grown last week. The girl raises her hands and moves her legs insistently, and her request is granted by Sielaire, who holds onto her sides and lifts her onto both feet. Astaire stands unsteadily on Sielaire's thighs, and though her struggle to keep balanced is impeded by the tickles she receives on her stomach, she laughs gaily and lurches forward to hug her mother's head.

"Oh, Astaire," Sielaire sighs, muffled against her daughter's onesie. "Mama's never going to get any work done at this rate."

Despite her mother's lament, Astaire continues babbling happily, then accepts the kitten doll that Sielaire offers her. Since she awoke that morning, Astaire's been in one of her fussy and clingy moods, where she stubbornly refuses to be with anyone other than her parents. And her mother of choice for today is Sielaire – which is just as well, as it gives Ayrenn some much needed time to focus on her own work. Too bad it means that Sielaire won't get the same.

Nevertheless, she still tries – by settling Astaire down in her lap again, and working on an official letter's outline. She is only five lines in when Astaire's grabby fingers find their way to Sielaire's elbow, and Sielaire has to wind a protective arm around Astaire, so the girl won't lean too far out and tumble onto the ground.

"Star, sweetheart…" Sielaire looks down, and finds Astaire extending one hand towards the far corner of the study desk. "Are you hungry?"

"Ah," Astaire confirms.

So Sielaire reaches over, and plucks the milk bottle from its self-warming container. Placing the bottle in Astaire's eager hands, she guides its spout into the girl's mouth, keeping a firm hold on the bottle as Astaire sips from it. And while she is wiping at Astaire's mouth between servings, the secret panel in the wall of her office slides aside, allowing Ayrenn through.

"I see you're keeping busy," Ayrenn teases with a smile as she walks in from her own study.

"Astaire is quite the taskmaster," Sielaire deadpans, adjusting the bottle in the girl's mouth. "Something the matter?"

"Well…yes." Ayrenn pulls a chair over and sits with a tired sigh, holding up the folder in her hand. "I've been reading your report on what happened in the Kinhouse, and…"

"And?" Sielaire asks, as Ayrenn flips through the pages of said report.

"I've been thinking. See?" Ayrenn taps on the paragraph where Sielaire has detailed her encounter with the barrier that kept Astaire safe, during the siege on her home. "The note you found says, _'Only those of the blood, old and true'_ were able to lay their hands on Astaire."

"Yes," Sielaire says slowly, unsure where Ayrenn is heading.

"And then there's the barrier, which allowed no one through…but you."

"Yes?"

Ayrenn stares at Sielaire, before her expression turns incredulous. "Darling, you're still not getting it?"

"Get what?"

" _Sie_ ," Ayrenn says in dramatic exasperation. "Don't you see? This might say something about your blood."

Sielaire squints then. "No."

"'No'?" Ayrenn huffs. "Now that's quite a hasty answer from you."

"Ayrenn, I am _quite_ sure I'm not a noble. At least, not before I sat on the damned throne."

"That's your _status_ , dear. It says nothing about your blood. No, Sie – listen," Ayrenn interrupts when Sielaire opens her mouth to speak. But she waits while Sielaire relieves Astaire of the bottle, the girl tiring of her snack. "Sie, I have a feeling that you _are_. Even if your family has fallen, it's only been for three generations at most – your blood can't be that far removed."

"Renn, for all we know, it could just be the ring." Sielaire raises her hand to display the royal signet band. "It reacted to the barrier, yes. But remember – it's infused with _both_ our magical essences. It could've just been reacting to _you_."

Ayrenn regards her silently for a moment. "I'd still like to verify that. Sie, please." She catches Sielaire's hand and clutches it to her chest. "It'll just be a simple ritual to test the purity of your bloodline. If you don't want anything to come of this, so be it. The result doesn't have to be made public. But I'd just like to know for certain. And it'll be good for us too – a safeguard of sorts, if the result is positive."

Blue eyes turn pleading, and Sielaire averts her own gaze with a heavy sigh. She stares blankly at Astaire, watching the girl squeeze at her kitten doll's paw and wiggle its tail.

"Fine, I'll do it."

* * *

As per Sielaire's wishes, the initial test is kept private – with only one trusted priestess of Auri-El to perform the ritual. On the chosen evening, they travel to the royal mausoleum just outside Alinor, under the guise of paying respects and seeking wisdom from the ancestors. With the Wings and Eyes standing guard outside the mausoleum, Ayrenn and Sielaire venture into the tomb with Priestess Eiranwe, who escorts them through the entrance hall with reverent prayers on her lips, then leads them down to the underground tombs.

But they don't have to descend far – their destination is the grand altar within the first chamber, where members of the royal family and nobility will usually stay for prayers. Eiranwe steps forth, reciting verses as she lights the candles on the altar. Then she stands before the sole figurine in the centre of the altar – an intricate depiction of a proud eagle with its wings spread wide, carved in stone and embellished with bold strips of gold and silver.

When the priestess's prayers are finally done, she takes the crystal vial nestled between the eagle's claws, and turns back to Ayrenn and Sielaire. "This ritual will be simple, Your Majesty. It will just require a single drop of blood, and the essence of your magicka."

"Of course." Ayrenn glances at Sielaire, knowing full well her wife's hesitation, and offers her own hand. "I'd like to see how it works for myself, first. Out of curiosity, you understand."

"Oh, yes. I am quite curious myself – this is my first time performing the ritual." Eiranwe carefully pricks Ayrenn's index finger with a sterilised needle, and catches a drop of blood in the vial. Then she casts a spell – an indigo swirl about her hand, coaxing Ayrenn's blue magical essence forth and guiding it into the vial as well, imbuing the blood with a mute glow.

Eiranwe carries the vial back to the altar, and places it into the eagle's claws. Then she kneels and chants quietly, steadily – and an aura slowly manifests within the chamber. The power of its influence is undeniable; penetrating, almost. Sielaire can feel… _something_ watching them, assessing them. And if Ayrenn's curious expression is anything to go by, her wife can feel it too – even if she seems completely unbothered by it.

The priestess's voice rises in a smooth crescendo, followed by a distinct swirl of energy upon the altar – and the crystal vial holding Ayrenn's blood comes alight with a bright golden glow.

"Ah, so that's it. Always good to know I'm not an illegitimate bastard," Ayrenn jokes, getting a surprised glance from the priestess – who seems torn between wanting to smile or remain serious.

But she doesn't take long to choose the latter – Eiranwe rises from the floor with a straight face, and takes the vial in her hands, cleaning it effortlessly with a simple spell. Then she approaches Sielaire to repeat the process, this time drawing forth a green essence to blend with the blood within the vial. Eiranwe sets the vessel into the eagle's claws again, and performs the ritual once more – but when her voice has died away to wait for a reaction from the altar, all is silent.

Sielaire crosses her arms, frowning slightly at the crystal vial that is still inert. Her foot taps on the floor impatiently when a minute goes by, then she throws up a hand in defeat. "See? I told you."

She turns around to walk out of the chamber – wrestling with a disappointment she'd rather ignore – but Sielaire is stopped in her tracks when Ayrenn grabs onto her arm.

"Wait, Sie – look."

Sielaire turns around, and her exasperation at Ayrenn's insistence is promptly replaced by surprise, when her eyes land on the crystal vial – which is glowing with a faint light. She is stunned into silence, left staring at the vial dumbly until she gathers herself again. "I don't…"

"It seems you are of the old blood, after all." Ayrenn smiles in triumph.

Reality settling over her in silence, Sielaire glances at the vial uncertainly. "But…it's so faint."

"It is, Your Grace," Eiranwe says. "But this glow, sadly, is not one that will come alive for many Altmer today – even those among the nobility. But you have sparked its glow."

"After all this time spent worrying…" Ayrenn chuckles, her smile growing wider. "And here we are. Divines help me, I feel like screaming this from the palace's steps–" She laughs into Sielaire's shoulder when her wife yanks her into an embrace, as if afraid she'd run out to do just that.

"Please do _not_ , Your Majesty," Sielaire sighs, though she smiles as well, when she presses a kiss to Ayrenn's temple.

* * *

"So, does this mean we're related?"

Ayrenn glances over at Sielaire with a bemused expression, still patting cream onto her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…for all we know, we could be cousins," Sielaire says, getting a burst of laughter from her wife – who immediately quiets down, casting an eye over Astaire's crib.

"Oh, Sie. You saw the vial's glow. Even if we were related, you'd still be quite distant." Ayrenn stands from the dressing table, and joins Sielaire in bed. "Besides, the documentation of your family's fall is scarce. If you were truly close to the royal line, you'd be a little more well-known."

Sielaire shrugs. "I guess."

"Anyway, it's too late to worry now, is it? Are you going to leave me on the off-chance that we're related?"

"No! Of course not."

"See?" Ayrenn snuggles up to her, pecking Sielaire on the cheek. Then a crooked smile spreads across her lips. "Although, it wouldn't be all that weird, would it? Even if you are my cousin. I mean, Alwin's my cousin, and I wouldn't mind being married to her–"

"Now you _are_ making it weird." Sielaire rolls her eyes when Ayrenn gives that knowing cackle, then cuts in when her wife starts to speak again. "No, stop. Keep quiet."

" _Make_ me," Ayrenn purrs, pressing up against her side. But the kisses she trails along Sielaire's cheek has barely reached her wife's mouth, when a voice comes from beyond the bedroom's door.

 _"Your Majesty, Commander Cariel requests an audience."_

"An 'audience'? In my nightgown?" Ayrenn huffs in amusement, pinching Sielaire's chin. "The last time it happened, I seduced my wife."

"You finally admit it," Sielaire says drily as she rises from the bed with Ayrenn, who calls for Cariel to be sent in.

The Bosmer commander walks in and snaps off a smart salute. "Your Majesty, I do apologise for disturbing you, but you said to bring any news straight to you after the mission."

Sielaire's bedtime mood promptly falls away at the reminder. Cariel has spared no expense at tracking down the perpetrators of the attack on the Kinhouse, and her investigations had quickly borne fruit just one week after – tracing the blood trail back to a newly-reformed Veiled Heritance. The last mission entrusted to Cariel involves the discovery and, if possible, the capture of the Heritance's leader.

"Yes, of course." Ayrenn waves her apology away. "Go on, Cariel."

"It was a success, Your Majesty. And, if I may say so, a grand one." Cariel's lips curved into a lop-sided smile. "We've managed to ambush the Heritance's inner circle during their meeting, and we've captured every single one of them. Including its veiled head."

"And? Who is it?"

"Councilor Ocantar."

* * *

The revelation comes as no surprise to them. Given the councilor's history of constantly opposing the decisions of the Empress and her Court, it is only fitting that Ocantar is revealed as the head of the new Heritance – which has risen again, albeit as a shadow of what it once was. Quite literally. Efficient though they are, it's painfully obvious that their numbers are still much too small to carry out operations on the scale of what Estre had once orchestrated. They're forced to hide in the shadows like rats, skittering about as they whisper lies and fallacies into the ears of the greedy and gullible, asserting their presence not physically, but politically.

It would've been deviously smart and dangerous indeed – if Ayrenn had not seeded her own loyalists within the Court and the Thalmor, and built her new Empire on unshakeable foundations. Ocantar made the gross mistake of assuming that Ayrenn hasn't learnt from her own missteps in the past, and now he will pay the price – first, by being forced to his knees before the Empress in the throne room, where the Court of Alinor, the Thalmor, and Summerset's nobles have been gathered by Ayrenn.

Sielaire sits in her throne beside the Empress, and Alwinarwe stays next to the dais as the Proxy Queen, while they watch Cariel list each and every one of Ocantar's crimes for all to hear. Nobody moves, all eyes fixed on the kneeling councilor as Ocantar is further damned with each charge spoken. Ocantar himself, already angered by his capture and manhandling, visibly bristles in indignation the longer Cariel speaks, irked by his public humiliation.

"And these are the Councilor's crimes in their entirety, Your Majesty," Cariel says, bowing to Ayrenn. "If you wish, I will present–"

"Crimes!" Ocantar barks. "I have done nothing but fight to preserve the sanctity of our Blessed Isles!" He struggles to rise with his wrists bound behind his back, but his effort is ended by a Prosecution guard forcing him back to his knees. "You want to find a traitor? Then look no further than the throne before us!"

Ocantar is trying to turn the Court against them – a futile attempt, of course. But Sielaire grows concerned when she glances discretely at Ayrenn, whose hand is balled into a fist on her armrest, bearing the faintest glow of magicka. Not a good sign.

"Our Empress has betrayed us from the very moment she set foot upon the Isles. She soils our heritage, disrespects our traditions, and has lowered the noble Altmer to the _dirt_ with the mongrel races!"

He incites movement in the people then, but not in his favour. Displeasure is clear in the Bosmer and Khajiit of the Thalmor, and their unhappy fidgeting is joined by many of the Altmer present as well.

"You, Ayrenn, care _nothing_ for us – your own people. You open our borders and taint our land with the lesser races. You allow others to step over your own subjects in your 'glorious' new Empire. And you threaten to end the royal Aldmeri bloodline – the very line from which you are descended – by placing a _peasant_ on the throne, and choosing an heir of inferior–"

" _Shut up!_ "

Her roar – amplified by the unintentional exertion of magicka – reverberates through the vast throne room, causing the floor to tremble, flames flickering on their candles. Ayrenn has stood from her throne, and a deathly silence falls over the hall as she takes ponderous steps towards the edge of the dais.

"You 'fight to preserve the sanctity of our Blessed Isles'? How? By washing it in the blood of our own people – the very people you claim to serve?" Ayrenn's tone is sardonic, and it is obvious she has no patience to give. "Kinlord Ciryendur and his Kinhouse have done nothing but serve the throne faithfully for _centuries_ , and yet you _dare_ murder him and his people, in an attempt to kill _my heir!_ "

"Your 'heir' is unworthy–"

"I said, _shut up!_ " Ayrenn sends forth a blast of energy – concentrated this time, and it forces Ocantar to hunch over, with his head nearly touching the floor. "I have dealt with you and your ilk for long enough. I will not entertain the grievances of an egotist any longer. Look around you, Ocantar." She waves a hand at those gathered – made of the three races of the Dominion. "The world has moved forward, and we have made it a better place by working with the very races you so despise. Our Empire shall grow and flourish for the ages to come, but it has no place for _scum_ such as you. And we shall no longer waste our energy dragging the lot of you along."

Ayrenn squares her shoulders, clasping her hands behind her back. "We hereby strip Ocantar Elsinian of his seat within the Court of Alinor, and his place among the nobility. All holdings under his name shall be entrusted to the royal treasury until further notice. Guards," Ayrenn barks, and the Prosecution snap to attention. "Bring this traitor to the dungeons, where he shall stay while he awaits his trial."

Ocantar sputters at the indignity as he is hauled to his feet by the guards, but Ayrenn pays him no heed.

"Court is adjourned," Ayrenn says curtly, and the Empress sweeps out of the throne room without waiting for her subjects to rise.

Exchanging a glance with Alwinarwe, Sielaire stands and receives their bow herself, dismissing the court formally. And as the rest file out of the hall, Sielaire exits through the side door – surprising Alwin, who is walking alongside her.

"Aren't you going after Ayrenn?"

"No. I'll let her cool off by herself, first."

"Hm." Alwin raises a brow thoughtfully. "Or she might stew."

Sielaire sighs. "Most likely."

* * *

Sielaire spends most of the day with Alwinarwe, receiving visits from concerned subjects, and arranging for the trials soon to be held. And when they've retired from their duties, Sielaire goes looking around the palace for Ayrenn, who has been so scarce that even her Eyes have caught the barest glimpse of her. She checks Ayrenn's office, their bedroom, and Astaire's room where the child is still in her nanny's care, but still finds no sign of her – until Sielaire searches their private training room.

Ayrenn is there, dressed in shirt and pants with her sword in hand, hacking away at a second training dummy – cut-up bits of the first dummy litter the floor, soon to be joined by the Empress's current victim. She takes no heed of Sielaire at first, swinging her sword at the dummy repeatedly, with little care for technique. Her face is flushed, dripping with sweat, and she only slows down when Sielaire moves closer.

Ayrenn glances at her wife with that sharpness in her eyes. "I'm not going to calm down."

"I won't ask you to."

A frown of confusion, then Ayrenn wrenches her gaze away from Sielaire, aiming two more blows at the dummy. "This isn't working," she growls.

"It won't."

"Then why did you do it so much?"

"I was angry. I needed release."

"Did it work?"

"No," Sielaire says simply, cocking her head. "Because I wanted something else."

Ayrenn grows still then, staring at Sielaire quietly. Then she turns around and takes a handful of steps away, before she cries out in frustration and spins on her heel, flinging her sword at the dummy. It topples over with the blade embedded deep in its chest.

"I need–," Ayrenn grinds through her teeth, clenching both fists before her as she paces the floor. "I need to hurt him. I need him to feel–, the _pain_." She slams a fist into her open hand, grinding her knuckles against her palm until Sielaire takes her wrist gently.

"I know," Sielaire murmurs. "You need revenge."

"And I will have it–"

"Yes. But it will give you no satisfaction." Sielaire grasps Ayrenn's other hand, and tugs her close. "Your heart desires more than you can take."

"Then I will take as much as I can."

Sielaire smiles wanly, and offers no follow-up – understanding Ayrenn's state of mind all too well. Instead, she turns Ayrenn's palms up, running a thumb over fair skin reddened by her tight grip on the sword hilt. Sielaire presses a kiss to her palm, then her knuckles, and smiles a little brighter Ayrenn caresses her cheek.

"Let's go back to our room, hm? We'll wash up, then take Astaire for a walk in the gardens?"

Ayrenn's gaze softens, but she lowers her hand and steps back. "No. I'm–, not yet," she sighs, walking slowly away from Sielaire. "But I'll join you later, alright?"

"Of course, love."

* * *

Though Ayrenn grows mellower with much guidance from Sielaire, her mood sees little improvement over the weeks, and turns more severe when the captured Heritance criminals are put on trial. Ayrenn, Sielaire, and Alwinarwe sit in for most sessions, and soon verdicts are reached by the tribunal – every Heritance member is stripped of their status and wealth, their families placed under probation. The inner circle who've masterminded the Kinhouse assault are put to the blade, and while most of the executions are private, only Ocantar's is carried out in public.

Ayrenn attends the execution herself, standing stoically by the platform erected outside Alinor's eastern gates, and watches as Ocantar's head is cleaved from his body, eliciting quiet gasps from the spectators. Though there has been little protest against Ocantar's sentence, the mood that falls over the crowd is heavy and subdued – and Ayrenn carries it with her, all the way back to the palace.

She spends the entire day sequestered in her library, allowing only Sielaire and Alwinarwe access to her. And when the sun has set, her self-imposed isolation starts gnawing away at her, and she decides to spend time with the one, very important person she's unconsciously avoided for the past weeks.

Ayrenn doesn't know what she expected – to be shunned or snubbed for keeping her distance, probably – but little Astaire greets her as joyfully as before, and even clings to her mother tighter, as if she has missed Ayrenn dearly. They settle by the fireplace, surrounded by cushions and toys that Astaire plays with as she sits in Ayrenn's lap, receiving many hugs and kisses on her head.

"Oh, thank you," Ayrenn croons when Astaire offers her an indrik doll. "It's very pretty."

Astaire smiles and babbles at her mother, before turning her attention back to her favourite kitten doll. Ayrenn watches her with an oddly peaceful heart, bumping her own toy with Astaire's to elicit giggles from the girl. Laughing under her breath, Ayrenn hugs Astaire again.

"I love you, my dear little Star," Ayrenn murmurs. "You know that, right?"

There's no kiddy babble in reply, but Ayrenn is content, sharing the moment of peace with her daughter. Then Astaire fidgets in place and crawls off Ayrenn's lap, falling playfully onto the cushions, where two other cats are lounging as well. She giggles and kicks her legs when Ayrenn tickles her stomach, then she takes the indrik toy back from her mother, bumping her dolls together. One of the cats rouses itself and pads over to the princess, curling up to sleep right beside her – but Astaire is hardly distracted by it, already used to the cats living with her.

Sielaire enters the bedroom then, and her tired expression softens at the sight of her family sitting by the fire, with many plump cushions and cats. She takes her place beside Ayrenn, who embraces her tightly.

"Feeling alright?" Sielaire asks, kissing the top of her head.

Ayrenn nods, giving Sielaire a squeeze before she takes a breath, and straightens herself. "I'm fine," she says with a smile, then taps on Sielaire's cheek. "You, on the other hand, look ready to collapse."

"I'm surprised I haven't," Sielaire groans, though she smiles when Ayrenn kisses her softly. She leans in to steal another kiss from her wife, then turns her gaze to Astaire. "Will you look at that. She's starting to take after me."

Ayrenn chuckles as Sielaire lies down beside Astaire, pecking the girl on her forehead and stroking the sleeping cat's back. Ayrenn joins her family among the cushions, lying on her side next to Astaire, and she reaches over to twine her fingers with Sielaire's.

"Think I'll take a nap now," Sielaire mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut. "Wake me in an hour so I can eat."

"Mm." Ayrenn slips the silver circlet off Sielaire's head, so her wife won't wake up with a mark on her forehead again. "Enjoy your cat nap, dear."

Sielaire snorts a laugh. "I love you so much."

"I know."


	13. Wanderlust - 3

Shimmerene. This city was her home away from home while she was growing up; a young mer yearning to break away from the apple orchards and spend more time among others, drawing inspiration from the sailors, mages, and craftsmen plying away at their trades, all in a neverending journey to reach perfection. She hasn't been here in a decade, and it's an odd experience to walk on the pristine streets again, following her favourite routes through the city as an older, different person. It's made even odder, perhaps, by the significant presence of foreigners walking among the locals as well – that which was rare in her home, is now commonplace.

She isn't the only thing that has changed, it seems.

Sielaire clasps her hands behind her back as she walks alone in contemplative silence; though she'd arrived at the city with her siblings and Ayrenn, the group had since dispersed to pursue their own interests. Ayrenn managed to break away from Sielaire by giving her a firm reassurance, and though Sielaire was discomfited as she watched Ayrenn walk off alone, she took some comfort in the Divine Prosecution's presence within the city, and learnt to let go. Which is just as well – it's been a long time since Sielaire's had the luxury of introspection, and it's refreshing to have her thoughts all to herself, instead of having to worry about her partner constantly.

 _Oh, nonsense._ Sielaire _is_ still worrying about Ayrenn – she just has no choice but to wait, until her love decides to return.

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, focusing on the stone path leading up to the monastery at the top of the hill. Sielaire stands some distance from its tall polished doors, opting to gaze up at the grand structure instead of walking in for prayers, as she had done so often in the past – a wandering soul searching for direction, seeking comfort in the Divine. But she has since grown beyond that desperation, having found the one purpose worthy of a lifetime's devotion.

As a priest walks out of the monastery to usher devotees in for a sermon, Sielaire smiles faintly to herself and moves towards a nearby flight of stairs, walking down the hill and past a few terraces, where prim upperclass mer are enjoying a spot of tea and gossip. Their fluttery giggles follow Sielaire down to the last flight of steps, where she takes a turn towards the docks in the northern part of the city – a favourite spot of hers to while away a few spare hours.

Sielaire takes a path nearest to the waters, listening to the gentle waves amid the calls from the dockworkers, as they move cargo up and down the ships. She keeps walking towards the farthest end of the docks to get away from the bustle, and strolls down the last empty pier that affords the best view of the city and the Direnni keep to the north. But neither hold Sielaire's attention for long as she rests both hands on her hips, gazing out at the shimmering blue waters. How much time had she spent here, staring at the waters and ships full of sailors, and wished she could follow them and see the world for herself? Would she have still wished the same, if she knew she'd see so much more than she'd hoped for? So much that she wanted to forget…

"Well, well. Look who's back."

Sielaire gives a start and spins on her heel, coming face-to-face with the easy smile of an old mer.

"Liratar," Sielaire greets him politely. "Good to see you're still…here."

"Here? Alive, you mean?" Liratar laughs, waving the fishing rod in his hand. "Of course I'm here! I've always gotten the best catch in these waters." The fisherman hops onto the crate that is his favourite perch, then busies himself by baiting a hook while Sielaire watches quietly.

Liratar's known fondly around the docks as the old fishing sage who offers help and good advice, but he's also regarded as a rather queer figure in town. He always appears lackadaisical, the way he lounges and naps on his crates all day, but it's an undeniable fact that he's the best fisherman in these parts. He treats everyone well – which is no problem at all, except that he extends the same courtesy to apraxics and hulkynds as well. It hasn't exactly endeared him to the Prosecution and those of 'proper society', though it's obvious that he doesn't _'give a hoot'_ , as he likes to put it.

When he's cast his line into the sea, he sets the rod in its stand and gives Sielaire a once-over. "Look at you," he drawls, shaking his head like a doting grandfather. "Once a troublemaker in the Prosecution's logs, now a war hero of the Aldmeri Dominion. Oh, how far you've come… Unless you'd like to knock a few heads around, for old times' sake?"

Liratar laughs aloud when Sielaire clicks her tongue. "I believe I've outgrown my…impulses."

"Or worked them out, more like. Seen your fair share of action on the frontlines, eh? Even got the scars to prove it." He leaned forward to peer at her in jest, but pauses when Sielaire reaches up to her mouth in reflex, half-hiding and worrying at the scars. "Now, now. Don't be shy about them. Those scars? Marks of a stout heart, they are. If anything, they mean more than those shiny little medals they pin onto your uniform." He cocks his head. "You've got medals, haven't you?"

Sielaire shrugs. "A few."

"Ah, good. Just the other day I was thinking – you know what Shimmerene needs? A decorated war hero. And now, here you are!"

"You're full of nonsense as always, Liratar. Even your fish can see it," Sielaire huffs.

"Eh, that's what they like about me."

Sielaire laughs under her breath as Liratar checks on his line, then starts baiting another hook for his spare rod. As he does so, another mer joins them at the pier, slipping her hand into Sielaire's.

"I've been looking all over the city for you," Ayrenn says, her umber eyes gazing up at Sielaire. She's wearing her enchanted earring, which turns her eyes dark and hair black – and though they've traveled under guise for a while, Sielaire still feels her heart skip a beat at Ayrenn's adopted visage. Her wife carries it with such elegance, that it's not uncommon for Sielaire to gaze at her in quiet wonder…much to Ayrenn's amusement and delight.

"Well, who is this?" Liratar asks, looking up from his hook as the women turn back to him.

"Liratar, this is my partner. Aralinwe." Sielaire uses Ayrenn's moniker from her adventuring days, derived from her middle name, 'Arana'. "Love, this is Liratar. Best fisherman in Shimmerene."

"In Shimmerene?" Liratar parrots indignantly, and Sielaire sighs.

"Best fisherman on Summerset's eastern coast," she corrects herself.

Liratar smiles proudly, and bows to Ayrenn from his perch. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady. You'll forgive me if I don't get down. This old mer's gotten quite comfortable on his crate."

"It's a very nice crate," Ayrenn humours him, making Sielaire roll her eyes.

"I suppose we should leave him to his crate and fishes," Sielaire says. "It's been nice seeing you again, Liratar."

"And you as well, brave little soldier. Oh, wait! Here." Liratar stops them before they start walking off, and he digs into his waist pouch, fishing out a golden token that he tosses over to Sielaire. "Been ages since I gave you one."

Sielaire chuckles as she looks at the token – which is actually a chocolate coin, wrapped in golden foil. It's a treat he keeps handy for the children who play around the docks – Sielaire and her siblings included.

"You father dropped by often while you were away at war, you know," Liratar adds, tossing a coin to Ayrenn as well. "Says it's like taking a good luck charm for you."

"Ah. Thank you."

Liratar waves a hand nonchalantly, turning back to cast his second line. "Just remember to visit now and again, hero."

* * *

When the sun has set, and they've indulged in a hearty dinner courtesy of Ayrenn's royal purse, Sielaire bids her siblings farewell for the moment – Rilenya and Virano will head back to the orchards, while she and Ayrenn go on a short camping trip on the outskirts of Shimmerene.

Taking their horses and light travel packs, they ride down the southern path from the city, before taking the roundabout road back up to the north, on a casual cruise under the moonlight. Neither speak much during the journey, enjoying the simple pleasure of their lover's closeness, occasionally taking the other's hand as their horses clip-clop casually along the paved road.

Eventually, they veer off the path and venture into the woods, searching for a spot to make camp. Sielaire has a specific place in mind, though the years of being away has made her unfamiliar with the woods. It takes her a bit of searching before they emerge onto a clearing near the cliffs, which gives them a good view of Shimmerene's lights in the dark of night. Ayrenn stops a moment to take in the view, commenting on how similar the view is to Alinor, before she helps Sielaire pitch their tent for the night. Not that Sielaire needs the help, but it does make things quicker. And soon enough, they have the tent ready, along with a steady campfire lit with the help of magic.

Sielaire places a cooking rack over the fire, upon which Ayrenn sets down the small pot of chocolate they've acquired from a store in the city. Sielaire stirs the chocolate until it's all melted, then they bring out the biscuits and fruits to dip into the fondue.

"This is the most…luxurious camp food I've had in a long time," Sielaire remarks, tossing a chocolate-covered strawberry into her mouth.

"Me too." Ayrenn laughs through her mouthful of banana. "Then again, we've spent the last few years in a war camp. Anything is luxurious compared to meals made with ration."

"You're the Queen, my dear," Sielaire says. "What _you_ had was luxurious compared to the soldiers."

"Well, yes. But I did share them with one soldier, didn't I?" Ayrenn slides a fingertip playfully under Sielaire's chin, and smiles when her partner snorts in reply.

"Only when you want your bed warmed."

Ayrenn gasps in mock hurt. "That is not true, Battlereeve. And you know–" She breathes a laugh when Sielaire brings their lips together, and she steals another peck before Sielaire moves away.

"It wasn't a complaint, Your Majesty."

Ayrenn hums, and feeds her a plain biscuit – thick, crisp, and buttery sweet. She leans against her partner and rests their heads together, Sielaire circling an arm around her waist. Dipping the last half of her biscuit in the chocolate, Sielaire delivers it into Ayrenn's mouth, then turns her gaze towards the sea. So many times had she hiked up here in search of some peace and quiet, and just lay on the grass, staring at the sky until her troubles had fallen away. Many times had she come here just to admire the view, and to…

Sielaire huffs in laughter, attracting a curious glance from Ayrenn. "I just remembered," she says, a faint flush creeping up her neck as she thinks on it more.

"Just remembered…what?"

"That I…wanted to have a proposal here." Sielaire's voice grows quieter with each word spoken, and her bashfulness is compounded when Ayrenn's eyes light up.

"Really? Well then, allow me to do it right this time."

"No, Ayrenn. Please." Laughter starts bubbling in her throat when Ayrenn shifts around, so she can face Sielaire directly. "Renn, it's not–"

"Sie." Ayrenn takes her hand with a smile, and touches the wedding band on her finger. "Will you be my wife?"

"Renn, we're already married."

"I know," Ayrenn says softly. "But the way I asked – it could've been better. I was desperate to be with you then. To be with you in every way possible. And you deserve so much better than that slipshod proposal. I've thought about it a lot, and…"

Sielaire feels a tender ache in her chest, and she struggles to breathe as Ayrenn moves closer.

"I'd like to ask you, Sielaire – you who have spent five difficult years as my wife – if you will continue to stay by my side?" Ayrenn's smile grows softer at Sielaire's silence, and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "You are the most perfect woman I have ever known, and your love is the one greatest gift I will cherish forever. I know in my heart that you are the only one I shall share my life with, that I will only know happiness when I'm with you. And I wish to give you the same happiness that you've given me. Sielaire, will you grant me the honour of being your wife, now and forever?"

Sielaire's lips twitch as she stares back into Ayrenn's loving gaze, desperately searching for words that elude her, but finds none. So she cups Ayrenn's face in her hands instead, and kisses her deeply; Ayrenn's fingers thread through her hair and pulls her even closer, their kiss turning fierce with each unspoken vow. Sielaire embraces Ayrenn tightly, losing herself utterly in her love's kisses, until their breaths grow deep and needy, and they have to part before truly drowning in each other.

Panting softly as she gazes into those lovely blue eyes, Sielaire smiles, managing a breathless laugh. "That's a yes, Renn," she says. "Yes, you will be my wife, and I will be yours. As we have been, and as we always shall be."

Ayrenn's smile breaks into a blissful grin, and Sielaire falls so deeply in love, all over again.

* * *

The dreamlike happiness follows them well into the next day, and they move along at a slower pace than usual, as if they share a wish to simply be close to each other, no matter what they choose to do. And so, when they hike farther north and find a roadside inn, they decide to leave the horses at its stables for a fee, before resuming their journey with hands clasped together.

They're behaving like newly-weds, Sielaire muses to herself, one of those who are truly in love with each other. And she relishes it, this freedom to bask in their affection. Ayrenn's proposal years before had been quite abrupt – slipshod, as she put it – and their joy was marred by so many concerns and fears that they never could truly appreciate what they had together, not with such an uncertain future. But now, they are free to make a life together, and Sielaire cannot ask for more…

Sielaire is distracted when Ayrenn pries herself away, and jogs up the path without a word. Puzzled, Sielaire follows after her, and slows down when Ayrenn kneels by the side of the road, cooing at the lone baby gryphon loping over the ground. Sielaire frowns, noting how the small gryphon's feathers are ruffled and bloodied, and it gives a warning trill when Ayrenn tries to go closer.

"Renn, be careful," Sielaire says, eyeing the gryphon's tiny but sharp talons.

"I'll be alright."

Despite the casual reply, Ayrenn takes the warning to heart and summons a near-indistinguishable barrier around herself, a faint silver glowing over her skin. Then she scoots over to the gryphon, always pausing for a while when it shrieks at her, before moving closer when it has calmed down. Slowly, she reaches out with a hand, and lets the gryphon take a swipe at her. She holds still, protected by her magic, and waits for the gryphon to finish clawing at her. When it's tired out and slumps onto the ground, Ayrenn places a gentle hand on its head and strokes down its neck once, waiting for the gryphon to react. But it doesn't, and she strokes it again – over and over, until it closes its eyes and trills softly, wings folding up to its body.

Then Ayrenn searches for wounds on the gryphon, healing each gouge and scratch easily with her magic. As she does so, the gryphon seems to regain some energy and opens its eyes again, and it doesn't fight back when Ayrenn picks it up to check the other side of its body. After determining that the gryphon is well, she smiles down at the baby in her arms, and strokes down its neck again before setting it back on the ground. But it doesn't walk or fly away, and just stands there looking up at Ayrenn.

First she tries shooing it away, then she takes Sielaire by the hand and walks away from the gryphon. But the little thing keeps following after them, and they're forced to rethink the situation.

"We should find its nest," Ayrenn says, after a moment's thought.

"Renn, we're in gryphon territory. Its mother could be…any one of them."

"Yes. But because we're in gryphon territory, there's no telling if another gryphon would attack it." Ayrenn bends down and scoops the baby up in her arms. "We'll return it. Come on, Sie. We have the entire day to do it."

When Sielaire's still uncertain, she adds, "We can't leave this little thing exposed to danger, can we?"

"It's called nature," Sielaire sighs. "But yes, let's return it."

Ayrenn grins and pecks her on the cheek, and so starts their search for the baby gryphon's nest. It's fruitless endeavour for the first hour, with two clueless Altmer traipsing about in the wilds, careful not to get spotted by territorial gryphons. The baby in Ayrenn's arms seems to be looking around as well, given how its head swivels about as they walk on, but it remains of little help – until it starts trilling out loud.

They halt abruptly and look at the bird in worry, before they spot the huge nest ahead of them, guarded by a large gryphon whose eyes have snapped over at the baby's cry.

"Renn. Put the baby down. _Now_ ," Sielaire utters.

Ayrenn sets the baby on the ground quickly, just as the mother gryphon starts stepping towards them, extending her wings in threat. But she stops in her tracks when the baby flies over to her, and she worries at it with her beak as they exchange a few chirps and trills. Then the mother takes another glance at them, before nudging her young back to the nest.

"Alright, it's back with its mother. Now let's get out of here–"

"I want to stay."

" _What?_ " Sielaire stares at her in disbelief. "Renn, we're in a gryphon nesting ground. We're exposed to danger here."

"We'll be fine," Ayrenn replies with much more calm than Sielaire feels. "Besides, we're quite far away from the other nests. They shouldn't bother us."

"But this one–? Gods, Renn. Spare me," Sielaire begs, which only sets off Ayrenn's pleas as well.

"Oh, Sie. Just for a while? Please? I won't do anything, I promise." Ayrenn pouts, taking Sielaire by the arm. "I've never had a chance to see a gryphon up close."

" _Renn_ ," Sielaire groans in exasperation, for she already knows what her decision will be.

* * *

They find a secure corner amid a cluster of rocks opposite the gryphon's nest, and combine their spells to form a sturdy magical barrier as a precaution. Then they sit and makes themselves comfortable, watching the baby gryphon gambol around its mother, who keeps glancing over at them warily, but never makes any threatening moves. It's a good sign, and it helps Sielaire relax further, the longer they remain.

"You know, I wanted a pet gryphon when I was young," Ayrenn says.

Sielaire laughs quietly. "Me too. I think almost every child does."

"Yup. And none of them ever got one, I reckon. My father got me an indrik instead." Ayrenn shrugs. "I was disappointed at first, because indriks can't fly. But when I learnt that Lotus could teleport? Ha! I gave my father all the headaches he'd hoped to avoid in the first place."

"That does seem to be a specialty of yours," Sielaire sighs.

Ayrenn smiles. "You're not tired of it?"

"Never, dearest."

They lean against the rocks to get comfortable, Sielaire keeping her arm wound protectively around Ayrenn. But she grows bored from the inactivity, and the minutes tick by until she dozes off peacefully with Ayrenn cuddled up against her.

When she wakes almost an hour later, she blinks blearily against the sunlight and stretches her arms out to the sides, where there's only empty space…with no Ayrenn–

Sielaire's mind snaps awake in an instant, and she searches about their corner frantically, but her panic is brought to a merciful end when she finally spots Ayrenn sitting far ahead of her… _right in front of the gryphons._

"Ayrenn!" Sielaire cries out in surprise, but she lowers her voice when the mother gryphon's head whips towards her. " _Renn! What are you doing!_ "

"The mother's accepting me," Ayrenn replies in an equally hushed tone.

"She's still a _wild_ gryphon, for god's sake!" Sielaire hisses back, carrying on the argument in whispered shouts. "Come back here!"

"No, you come here," Ayrenn says stubbornly. "Sie, trust me. She's really quite…nice."

"No. Renn, _please_ come back here before something happens–" Sielaire loses her train of thought when her hand rises of its own volition–, no. _Ayrenn_ is weaving a spell of her own, an azure glow around Sielaire's hand tugging at her insistently. "Renn!"

"Sie, come on. It won't hurt you if you don't threaten it." Ayrenn persists, pulling at Sielaire until her wife crawls reluctantly through the magical barrier.

Dread rises within Sielaire as she inches over – purely to protect Ayrenn in case she gets into trouble. She keeps a wary eye on the mother gryphon, who stares back at her as she kneels beside Ayrenn.

"See? That wasn't so bad. Now, don't look intimidating, and she won't get angry." Ayrenn smiles at Sielaire and reaches for the gryphon, making Sielaire's heartbeat skyrocket as she strokes gently over the mother's vast wings. "Oh Sie, let me show you…"

Sielaire watches as Ayrenn conjures a sizeable ball of light in her hands and tosses it into the air, where it hovers in place. The mother gryphon prods at it lazily with her huge talons, and loses interest soon after. But the baby gryphon leaps up from the ground to catch it, flapping its little wings as it pecks away at the ball, before falling back to the ground.

"They're like our cats at home, except they're much larger...and dangerous," Ayrenn points out, though she pauses upon noticing Sielaire's tense expression. She smiles, then taps Sielaire on the nose. "Uncomfortable?"

Sielaire nods, and Ayrenn finally relents, patting her cheek affectionately.

"We're leaving now, proud one. Take care of yourself," Ayrenn says, turning back to the gryphon. "And keep a closer eye on your child next time, hm?"

The mother tilts her head as the Altmer pair starts backing away from her, and she curls a wing around her baby to prevent it from following them.

They pick up their bags, and Ayrenn turns around to give the gryphons one last wave, before Sielaire leads her away by the hand. They walk in silence for a while, then Ayrenn peers at the slight frown on Sielaire's brows.

"Are you angry?"

Sielaire glances at Ayrenn, then averts her eyes, heaving a sigh. "No."

"You are."

"Look." Sielaire brings them to a stop, so she can look Ayrenn in the eyes. "You promised me you wouldn't do anything, but you did. And getting _that_ close to a wild gryphon could've gotten you hurt, Ayrenn."

"I know. I'm sorry." Ayrenn is sincere, and Sielaire wonders if she knows that she's already forgiven. "I was just curious. But I won't do anything like that again. Promise."

Sielaire regards her quietly, then lets out a slow breath. This is hardly the first promise Ayrenn has made, and she knows it won't be the last. A frustrating quirk of her wife's, to be sure – but it is one that Sielaire loves as well.

Thus, with a kiss on Ayrenn's forehead, she accepts the apology, and all that the future may bring.


	14. Aldmeri - 5

"Now, now. Be good, my dear." Sielaire adjusts Astaire in her arms, hugging the girl more securely before she falls to the ground. Astaire has grown fussy near the end of their five-day carriage ride to the outskirts of Dusk, obviously tired from having to sit still for so long. She's swinging her feet and whining at Sielaire, who holds onto her little fist and coos, "Just a little more, Astaire. Then we can see your aunt Alwin."

"Alwy," Astaire repeats off-handedly as she whips her head about, trying to catch sight of her aunt.

"That's right. We're going to see Aunt Alwy." Sielaire shares a smile with Ayrenn, who hooks a hand around her elbow, as they're escorted through the manor's immaculate garden by Alwinarwe's personal attendants. They've taken some time off to visit their beloved cousin at her private estate, and steal a quiet holiday for themselves after the recent hectic months of tending to the empire.

They stroll across the garden at a leisurely pace, taking their time to admire the new sculptures and topiaries that Alwinarwe has acquired, allowing Astaire to touch some as they go along. And when they've entered the foyer, allowing the attendants to take their travel coats, they look up to find Alwin walking down the plush red runner of the grand staircase, her typically cool expression softened by a gentle smile.

"Look, Star," Sielaire sings to Astaire, patting the girl's back to catch her attention. When curious blue eyes look to her, she turns on the spot and directs Astaire's gaze towards Alwinarwe. "See? That's–"

"Alwy!" Astaire gushes excitedly and reaches out to her, chubby fingers grasping at the air. "Alwy!"

"Astaire," Alwin greets the little one, her smile growing brighter as she takes Astaire from Sielaire, and carries the ten-month-old comfortably in her arms. "My dear little Star's finally come to visit."

Astaire giggles when Alwin tickles under her chin, then kisses the girl on her forehead. Alwin runs a hand down Astaire's short blond locks, and turns to accept the loving embrace Ayrenn gives her.

"It's good to see you again," Ayrenn says, giving a peck on Alwin's cheek.

"As always," Alwin replies, her voice still soft enough that it makes Sielaire worry as she reaches out to clasp Alwin's hand.

Alwinarwe has returned to her private estate over a month ago, and only at Sielaire's insistence after she'd collapsed while walking to a meeting with the Thalmor. When Ayrenn had been away, tending to the empire from her seat in the Imperial City, Alwinarwe governed Summerset with Sielaire, as per custom. But she'd taken such strain on herself with so little rest in the past months, that the over-exertion finally took its toll.

Sielaire had rushed to her bedside immediately, and was frightened by how pale Alwin had appeared then. Though she pulled through without complication, Sielaire put her weight behind the healers' advice, and ordered Alwin to step down from her duties until she has fully recovered. The Proxy Queen was forced to yield – not without her fair share of complaints – and Sielaire had personally escorted her to the carriage that brought her far away from Alinor and its troubles.

Though Sielaire had been worried sending Alwin off by herself, she's glad to see it was the right decision. Alwinarwe does look a little thinner, but also much more calm and relaxed with her sandy blonde hair loose about her shoulders, a healthy flush on her cheeks, and a mellow yet attentive gaze.

"Come, let's head to the parlour," Alwin says, leading them up the staircase. "I've had the chefs prepare afternoon tea for us."

"Ah, how dear of you," Ayrenn croons, and Sielaire can't help but smile when Alwin sighs at her cousin.

They enter the parlour – modest in size compared to those in the palace, but it's still furnished with the richest woods, rare paintings, elegant silver sconces, and a crystal-studded chandelier. Making themselves comfortable in the chaise longues, Ayrenn and Sielaire sit together in one chaise, while Alwin makes herself comfortable with Astaire, who refuses to sit anywhere except her aunt's lap.

"Is it me, or is Star getting a little spoiled?" Ayrenn muses out loud, leaning back in her seat at complete ease.

"Or she just really likes Alwin," Sielaire jokes off-handedly, distracted when a cat with smooth tawny fur leaps up onto the chaise beside her. Sielaire smiles, sating its need for attention with languid strokes down its back.

Alwin has recently taken to adopting cats of her own, though she only ever has a maximum of two at any given time. To everyone's surprise, she'd named her first cat 'Razum-dar', and since then all her cats have shared a similar name; this one sitting with Sielaire is called 'Razum-dum', inspired by the cat's amazing propensity at falling into Alwin's pond…despite its severe aversion to water.

Razum-dum purrs contentedly from Sielaire's attention, before it's chased away by the head chef, who has come to present the afternoon's platter of scones, cakes, pastries and tea to their honoured guests. Astaire promptly perks up when she spots a particular plate stacked with her favourite snack – special golden-brown crackers which are baked soft enough for the young one to chew, yet with a crispy texture that provides some fun while eating.

"Do you want a cracker, Star?" Alwin asks, picking the single cracker on top of the neat stack.

Astaire nods fervently, practically vibrating with excitement when Alwin places the cracker in her hand. She brings it to her mouth eagerly, and chomps off an entire half of the cracker – much to her family's amusement.

"Slowly, Star," Alwin chuckles, wiping the crumbs from Astaire's mouth with a napkin. "There's many more where that came from."

"Do you like the crackers, Astaire?" Ayrenn sings to her, while Sielaire helps herself to a scone. "Are the crackers nice?"

Astaire babbles in reply and shoves the rest of the cracker into her mouth.

"Aunt Alwin had them made for you, Star. Isn't that nice?" Ayrenn continues, and Sielaire has an inkling where this is going. "Alwin loves you a lot. Do you love your aunt Alwin, Star?" She tries prodding Astaire into a game they've recently picked up, but Astaire only stares back at her mother with wide, guileless eyes. "You know how mama loves you? Yes! That's how I…love…you–"

"Lowe yoo!" Astaire yells, having caught on. "Lo–, lowe!"

"See, Alwin?" Ayrenn grins at her cousin. "Star loves you so much."

"Lowe Alwy!"

Alwinarwe laughs softly, a bright smile parting her lips as she presses a kiss to the top of Astaire's head. "I love you too, little Star."

Astaire giggles, and clutches onto Alwin's arms as her aunt wraps her in a hug.

* * *

They spend two whole days in Alwinarwe's estate, simply indulging in luxury afforded by the vast manor and its open grounds. Since it is Astaire's first visit here, they take their time to bring her around the manor, exploring its different floors and rooms, before she finds a favourite in the playroom that Alwin has set aside for her. And when they're not keeping the girl entertained with toys and magic, they're strolling through the estate's expansive garden, playing hide-and-seek in the small hedge maze – though they did have to 'rescue' Astaire once, when the girl started bawling because she was lost and hadn't seen her mothers or aunt for much too long.

When they've had their fill of lounging at home, they decide to make a two-day visit to Sil-Var-Woad – home to Summerset's only zoo, and the Royal Menagerie. It is Astaire's first visit here as well, and her curiosity is constantly piqued by a whole variety of animals that she can never see in the pristine capital of Alinor. Ayrenn carries Astaire close to the sturdy metal bars of the enclosures, keeping a firm grip on the girl's hand to prevent her from reaching out to the animals, as she had done with the first lion they viewed.

Astaire stares up at the giant tusked creature with her mouth open, then turns to Ayrenn and babbles pointedly.

"Yes, darling. That's a mammoth," Ayrenn confirms. "They've very big and strong. And their milk makes rather good cheese as well."

"Really?" Alwinarwe asks, regarding the mammoth incredulously. "One would think its cheese would be heavy…and smelly."

"Oh, yes. It's quite pungent, but pair it with the right wine and fruit, and it's delightful." Ayrenn smiles when Alwin still looks thoroughly unconvinced, and she turns to Sielaire for support. "Have you tried it, love?"

Sielaire's face scrunches up a little. "Yes, but I had nothing to pair it with at the time. Only cheap mead."

"Ah. Did you keep it down?"

"Barely."

"My, oh my," Ayrenn laughs. "Your stomachs are much too Altmer for their own good."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Alwin retorts.

"If you say so, Alwin dear," Ayrenn humours her as they move on from the mammoth enclosure, heading towards the Royal Menagerie where rarer species are kept.

They admire the vicious-looking Dunerippers from the Alik'r Desert, the docile echatere from Wrothgar, and two proud gryphons native to the Summerset Isle. Sielaire eyes the gryphons with nearly as much distrust as they regard her with, and Ayrenn deems it wise to lead her wife away from the enclosure, before lightning of the green variety strikes within menagerie grounds.

Their last stop is the indrik grounds – the only one they are able to enter, due to the tame nature of the indriks within the compound. Ayrenn feels a slight twinge upon seeing the majestic, feathered creatures – Lotus had passed on a few years back, and she regrets not spending more time with her old playmate before they were parted. Since then, Ayrenn has decided not to adopt another pet from the menagerie, knowing the crown wouldn't spare her that luxury of time. Astaire, on the other hand, might appreciate having an animal companion while she's young. Perhaps even treat it better, instead of flying off on whim…

Ayrenn brings Astaire close to one indrik, which has been watching them with interest since they entered the enclosure. Petting the indrik's head to ensure that it is indeed harmless, Ayrenn then guides Astaire's hand to the indrik, and gets her accustomed to stroking its head. Astaire coos a few baby words, and the indrik gives a soft snort in reply, gentle eyes fixed on the little girl. Ayrenn moves Astaire's hand to the side so she can scratch the side of the indrik's head, and it closes its eyes, tilting its head up in satisfaction.

"Looks like Astaire's making a friend," Sielaire says, coming to stand beside them. "An indrik, hm? They must be a favourite of royal heirs."

Ayrenn huffed, knocking her shoulder into Sielaire's. "They are very beautiful creatures, after all." She pets the indrik again, and hums thoughtfully. "Maybe we should get one for Star. On her…fifth birthday, perhaps?"

Sielaire tilts her head, nodding in agreement. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

They retire to the modest, rustic cottages near Sil-Var-Woad later in the day, to rest their feet and allow Astaire to take a much needed nap. The two cousins pass the time with idle chatter, while Sielaire ventures out for a quiet trek in the woods nearby. And when she returns an hour later, just as the sun is setting, she finds that Astaire has already woken up and is fussing for food, sated with a small serving of milk that will last her until dinner is served.

The pavilion in the backyard is where they have their nighttime meal, with a chef grilling meats and vegetables in the open air, before plating them for the royals seated around the table. For the adults, choice cuts of succulent meat are paired with a mix of imported and local vegetables, while Astaire has her own special platter consisting of semi-solid fruits and carefully shredded pieces of fish which are easy to chew. To go with her baby food is a full bottle of warm milk, which the adults clink with their wine glasses in a playful toast.

The night's dinner is perhaps more splendid than any meal Sielaire has ever had in the palace, thanks to the laidback atmosphere and the presence of cherished family. She's free to lean back in her seat, and twine her fingers with Ayrenn's beneath the table, wearing a lazy smile as she watches Alwin feed Astaire the last of her fruit mash. Sielaire turns her gaze to Ayrenn when her wife places a kiss on her knuckles, and that knowing gleam in Ayrenn's eyes makes her heart skip a beat in anticipation.

As they return to the cottages, Sielaire hangs back while Ayrenn hastens to stop Alwinarwe in her tracks.

"Alwin, dear. Wait." Ayrenn wears that sweet smile of hers, and clasps Alwin's hands in her own. "We were wondering if you'd like to have Astaire for the night."

Alwin frowns briefly, then comprehension dawns on her face. "You mean, to have Astaire sleep with me tonight?"

"Yes. You know I've been away for months. And since I've been back, Sielaire and I hadn't really the time to–"

"No! No," Alwin cuts in loudly, raising a hand to stop Ayrenn's explanation. "I don't need to know." She bends down to the girl who's been toddling beside them, and lifts Astaire easily into her arms. "Astaire shall sleep in my cottage tonight. That is all," Alwin declares, and climbs the steps to her abode without waiting for a reply. "Come, little Star. You can share Aunt Alwin's bed tonight. Say bye-bye to your mama."

Astaire turns her head to gaze after her mothers, waving happily in farewell. Sielaire feels a _little_ guilty as Alwin carries her away, but then Ayrenn tugs on her hand, and she feels her blood pump faster as her wife leads the way back to their own quarters.

* * *

Quietly, they enter the cottage together, their lackadaisical mood falling away at the audible click, when Sielaire locks the front door behind them. She keeps her gaze trained on Ayrenn, who turns around to face her, with a faint smile on her lips. Ayrenn's hands come to rest on Sielaire's hips when she walks close – and doesn't stop, forcing Ayrenn to follow her lead, walking backwards into the bedroom. Sielaire stares back into blue irises which are gazing into her own, trying to fathom her intentions when she makes no move to speak, or even touch Ayrenn.

Slowly, she lets a small smile curve her lips, and murmurs, "Six months. You've been away for six months."

"I know," Ayrenn replies, equally quiet.

"You've been staying away for much too long, _Your Majesty_." Sielaire drops her voice to a lower timbre, and she feels Ayrenn's fingers dig slightly into her hips. "I'm starting to wonder if you'd forgotten about your family. That you have a wife waiting for you back home."

Ayrenn's lips part as her hip bumps into the dresser. "Of course I do," she whispers, their breaths mixing together when her wife leans close. "I think about you every day."

Her eyes flicker up to Sielaire's, searching, before she seals their lips in a soft kiss. Sielaire basks in the tenderness, returning her wife's kiss with a silent profession of love. Ayrenn's hands slide up her sides as she deepens the kiss, tasting wine on Ayrenn's lips when she teases with her tongue, then delves in to make her claim. Ayrenn moans quietly in approval, her hand slipping up to Sielaire's nape to pull her closer, their kisses growing harder, fiercer.

Sielaire growls as her hands reach down to cup Ayrenn's ass, before lifting her wife easily from the ground, placing her on top of the dresser. She claims Ayrenn's lips again and again, barely giving Ayrenn enough time to breathe her name in full. But as she's undoing her wife's dress, Sielaire is given pause when Ayrenn places a hand on her chest, and pushes firmly.

Breaking away with reluctance, Sielaire looks at her wife in silent question. Ayrenn merely gives her a small smirk and raises a hand – glowing blue. Their suitcase snaps open behind them, and Sielaire looks back just in time to see the black harness fly into Ayrenn's outstretched hand. Sielaire stares at it in mute surprise, then shoots Ayrenn an incredulous look.

"You've planned for this, haven't you?" Sielaire asks, and Ayrenn's smirk grows wider.

"I am the Empress, my dear. Nothing happens that is not of my design."

Sielaire's heart beats faster at how _absolute_ Ayrenn sounds – a secret weakness that her wife loves to play with. But she doesn't give in immediately, and merely cocks her head in subtle rebellion.

"Pants off, Sielaire."

Sharing Ayrenn's smirk, Sielaire gives her this one concession. She takes a step back and undresses herself slowly, with Ayrenn's smouldering gaze fixed on her as she unbuckles her belt, pops the button of her pants open, and rids herself of all clothing from the waist down. Ayrenn wears a smile as she hands the harness to Sielaire, and helps her wife strap it firmly about her hips and ass. She cups a hand between Sielaire's thighs, where a smooth round metal piece hugs her clit snugly, its surface engraved with lesser-known runes that light up with a simple application of magic. Sielaire feels that familiar, tingly sensation at her clit as the magic melds with her nerves, and coalesces into a solid phallus of the same azure colour as Ayrenn's magicka.

Sielaire has to grip the edges of the dresser when Ayrenn wraps lithe fingers around her member, feeling _acutely_ her wife squeezing her – not too tight, just enough to whet her appetite. Ayrenn lifts the hem of her dress and tugs Sielaire forward, her wife following until she's close enough to press her head against Ayrenn's entrance. But when Ayrenn tries to pull her further in, Sielaire stops, and doesn't yield even as her wife starts to massage her with that _delicious_ pressure under her fingers.

Ayrenn cocks a brow. "Sielaire."

"So impatient," Sielaire murmurs, leaning in to kiss her with a gentleness she knows is driving Ayrenn crazy.

A growl rumbles from Ayrenn's throat as she pulls Sielaire into a heated kiss – a command that Sielaire disregards entirely. Gripping the hand still stroking her hardness, Sielaire tugs it away as she trails lips and teeth down the length of Ayrenn's neck, sucking hard at the pulse point before sinking her teeth into flesh. She feels Ayrenn take a breath beneath her lips, and smiles as she moves ever lower, sucking and biting at her wife's clavicles. Ayrenn fights against Sielaire's grip on her captive hand, but her resistance only stokes a simmering desire, and Sielaire grabs her other hand, locking Ayrenn's wrists behind her back.

But she gives Ayrenn another concession, and slides her entire length against Ayrenn's growing wetness, slicking the surface of her throbbing magicka.

" _Sie…_ " Ayrenn groans, arching her chest as Sielaire's mouth moves down to her cleavage, all the while grinding slowly against her.

Sielaire doesn't reply, taking her time to pull Ayrenn's dress down from her shoulders, to reveal her chest in full. She takes a breast into her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue around the nipple.

"Sie. _Damn it_."

She releases Ayrenn's breast, places another kiss on her chest, then shoots Ayrenn a smirk as she bunches the dress about her wife's waist. Sielaire kneels down and brings her mouth to Ayrenn's core, kissing and sucking and swirling her tongue in all the right ways, that leaves Ayrenn moaning and rolling her hips against Sielaire's face. Sielaire groans hungrily into her wife's wetness, sinking her tongue as deeply as it'll go, then raises her lips to lavish attention on Ayrenn's little bundle of nerves.

Sielaire adds her fingers to the mix, sucking and licking Ayrenn's clit while she thrusts with two digits, Ayrenn growing ever wetter under her attention. Fingers twine with dark red locks and grip them tightly, setting a pace that Sielaire gladly follows, and Ayrenn rides her wife's mouth surely towards climax–

Blue eyes fly open when she is just on the edge, and Ayrenn glares down at Sielaire, who has broken away before granting her wife sweet pleasure.

Sielaire flashes a crooked grin as she rises to her feet, pulling Ayrenn's thighs farther apart. "Forgetting something?"

She sinks her shaft into Ayrenn without ceremony, her wife's head falling back as a lewd moan escapes her, mixing with Sielaire's groan as Ayrenn accepts her entire length easily, slick walls gripping Sielaire like a well-made sheath.

"Gods, Renn," Sielaire utters into her ear, and Ayrenn takes a shuddering breath, hugging her about the shoulders.

"You feel so good, Sie," Ayrenn breathes. "Now fuck me, love. Fuck me, _take_ me–"

Sielaire snarls, deep and guttural, as she pulls her hips back and drives hard into Ayrenn, any intent of teasing her wife forgotten. But she paces herself, pumping into Ayrenn with steady rhythm, hearing that short, breathy moan in her ear each time she sinks up to the hilt. Ayrenn turns her head, lips searching blindly for Sielaire's, and they meet in a needy, open-mouthed kiss.

"More, Sie," Ayrenn pants, pressing her heels into the small of Sielaire's back. "More."

That gets a chuckle from Sielaire, who gives one last thrust of her hips, before pulling out of Ayrenn.

"Oh, _Sie–!_ " Ayrenn's reproach is cut off when Sielaire hitches her about her hips, capturing Ayrenn's lips in a hard kiss before Sielaire tosses her carelessly onto the bed. A small grin parts Ayrenn's lips as Sielaire climbs in after her, roughly yanking the dress from her body, leaving her bare. Tossing the dress aside, Sielaire tugs her shirt up and off her head as well, throwing it to the floor where it's shortly joined by her bra.

Sielaire runs an appreciative eye over Ayrenn's bare body – softer now, but still toned from regular exercise. She places both hands above Ayrenn's thighs, and slowly slides her palms over her lover's lightly-scarred skin, reaching up to cup and knead her breasts.

"Sie," Ayrenn purrs, grasping onto Sielaire's hips and pulling her forward. "Stop playing, and take me."

"Orders, orders." Sielaire clicks her tongue, leaning down as her hand slides up to rest on Ayrenn's neck. "Is that all you know to give?"

Ayrenn smirks, guiding Sielaire's hardness between her thighs, where her wife slips in without argument. But before Sielaire can start moving, Ayrenn flips them over, so she's straddling her lover.

"I give orders, my dear, because you take them so well." Ayrenn rocks her hips against Sielaire, who grips onto her sides in return. "You take them as well as I take _you_."

Ayrenn lifts herself and brings her hips down firmly, Sielaire groaning through gritted teeth as she bucks up against her lover. She loses control for a while as Ayrenn rides her cock expertly, swaying her hips at _just_ the right angles that makes Sielaire's toes curl. Then her hands finally find purchase on Ayrenn's hips, and she digs her nails in, wresting control from her wife by driving into Ayrenn, breaking her dominant streak. Ayrenn gasps, and clings onto Sielaire's shoulders for balance while her wife fucks her at a merciless pace from below.

Sielaire catches Ayrenn's hand reaching for her, and she slows down, giving her wife a chance to breathe. She presses her lips to Ayrenn's knuckles, then sits up and reaches for her nape, pulling her into a deep, loving kiss. Ayrenn's lust-hazed eyes soften with the smile on her lips, before Sielaire takes her by surprise, tossing her face-down onto the bed. She grabs Ayrenn's hips and hauls her onto her knees, slipping two fingers into Ayrenn first, before replacing it with her full length.

Ayrenn's moans are mixed with whimpers when Sielaire pounds into her from behind, and she has propped herself up on her elbows, when Sielaire's fingers run through her blonde hair and grabs a fistful, tugging her head back. Sielaire's name falls from Ayrenn's lips like the sweetest honey, and she regrets not seeing her wife's face, to watch each bit of pleasure overtake Ayrenn's features with each hard thrust into her silky warmth.

Sielaire growls at the thought, and brings a hand down on Ayrenn's ass, getting an approving whine from her wife. She slows down again, this time to trail kisses up Ayrenn's lower back, between her shoulder blades, and on her nape before biting Ayrenn playfully on the shoulder.

Nuzzling up to Ayrenn's cheek, she murmurs, "You may be the Empress now, my love." Sielaire reaches down, massaging Ayrenn's clit. "But you will _always_ be my. Spoiled. Little. Queen." She punctuates each word with a thrust, and the whines in Ayrenn's throat grow louder. "Aren't you, darling?"

"Yes. Yes, _please_ , Sie," Ayrenn moans, holding onto the wrist of Sielaire's hand between her thighs. "Fuck me. Fuck your Queen."

Ayrenn rocks her hips back, and the last of Sielaire's restraint snaps. She drives her cock into Ayrenn's warmth, pounding so hard that their skin will surely be reddened after. But she doesn't notice, doesn't care – all she knows is how deliciously tight Ayrenn feels around her stiffness, and she needs her lover in full, _now_.

Sielaire pulls out again and pushes Ayrenn onto her back, positioning herself at Ayrenn's slit, and thrusts deep.

"I love you," Ayrenn gasps as she wraps both legs around Sielaire, who takes pause at the sudden, tender confession.

She gazes down at her wife – blue eyes darkened with lust, cheeks flushed with need, lips wet and reddened from Sielaire's rough attentions. Heart overtaken by love, Sielaire kisses her, twining her fingers with Ayrenn's. "I love you too."

Her hips start moving against Ayrenn again, and she doesn't plan to stop this time. Sielaire plunges in fully with each thrust, groaning as she hits that sweet spot in Ayrenn's slick walls; and all the while, she can only focus on Ayrenn's fingers gripping desperately onto hers, panting Sielaire's name like a mantra, and her own heat growing hotter amid Ayrenn's utter wetness.

"Oh gods, Sie!" Ayrenn wraps her legs tight around Sielaire as her body locks up, eyes rolling back, and she cries to the ceiling, " _Sielaire!_ "

Sielaire buries her face in Ayrenn's neck, all sense driven from her mind when Ayrenn's walls clamp tightly onto her. She can only spare a few more thrusts before sheathing herself fully in Ayrenn, climax crashing over her like a heavy tide. Her hips shudder against Ayrenn as she rides out the pleasure, then lets herself go limp on top of her wife, panting heavily with her head on Ayrenn's shoulder. Sielaire dozes for a few short moments, before she gathers herself, feeling Ayrenn's fingers running gently through her hair.

Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she gazes down at Ayrenn, the two sharing an affectionate smile, brushing their lips together.

"That was…"

Ayrenn hums. "Maybe I should go away more often…"

"Don't you _dare_ ," Sielaire warns, though her stern expression quickly falls away as they laugh breathlessly together. She presses another kiss to Ayrenn's lips, then another.

"I love you."

* * *

They fall asleep easily in each other's arms, and Ayrenn wakes in the morning to find Sielaire's verdant eyes already open, gazing at her with the faintest, sleepy smile on her lips. Judging by the brightness of the sunlight pouring through their windows, they've overslept, but neither feel any need to hurry, washing up at leisure on a tranquil morning. When they've dressed and tidied up, they share a soft kiss together, then head out of their cottage hand-in-hand.

After finishing a breakfast freshly prepared by the chef, they stroll down the stone path leading to a small garden just south of Sil-Var-Woad, where they find Alwinarwe and Astaire sitting in a pergola overlooking the eastern strait. Astaire is sitting on a bench beside Alwin, and grasping clumsily at the puzzle box her aunt is holding for her. But the girl quickly forgets about the toy when she spots her mothers walking into the pergola, and she squeals _'Mama!'_ happily as Sielaire swoops in and lifts her high into the air.

"Careful, Sie," Ayrenn says, resting a hand on Astaire's back as Sielaire settles the girl comfortably in the crook of her arm. With a smile, Ayrenn kisses the top of Astaire's wind-blown locks.

"Want to go for a walk, Star?" Sielaire asks, and Astaire merely giggles in reply, snuggling up to her mother.

Ayrenn returns the kiss Sielaire presses to her lips, and watches her wife carry Astaire out into the sunlight. Breathing a contented sigh, Ayrenn takes a seat beside Alwin, giving her cousin a one-armed hug. "Oh, Alwin. Thanks for your help last night. You wouldn't believe how much we needed–"

"No," Alwin interrupts. "I told you, I don't want to know." She rolls her eyes when Ayrenn winks at her.

"But I am being serious, Alwin," Ayrenn says, even with the impish curve on her lips. "I'm glad Astaire has you, as well. Gods know how much the throne keeps her mothers away from her."

"I understand." Alwin shakes her head in thought, falling silent as they watch Astaire toddle across the green grass, with Sielaire holding her hands. "When I was in Alinor with Sie…it was a struggle just to steal some time with Astaire."

"Well. To be fair, it _was_ a very busy period…" Ayrenn's voice drifts off when a messenger walks up to the pergola, and bows low to them. She waves him forward, and he walks in respectfully.

"Your Majesty, I apologise for the interruption," he says, bowing again. "But I bring a letter for Lady Alwinarwe."

Alwin frowns. "I said I'm to receive no correspondence while I'm on sabbatical."

"Yes. My deepest apologies, Your Grace. But it is from your mother, the Kinlady–"

Alwin lets out a short, near-inaudible groan as she waves the messenger over. "Stay there," she commands, taking the letter from his hands. A deep frown creases her forehead as she reads it, then refolds the parchment with a few cutting motions. She thrusts the letter back at the messenger and says, "Burn it. And bring just one word back to my mother: 'No.'"

Ayrenn assumes this messenger has been with Alwinarwe's family for a long time, because he appears unfazed by Alwin's instructions, and accepts her orders with a smile and a polite bow of his head.

"So," Ayrenn drawls as the messenger hastens away from the pergola. "What does auntie dearest want this time?"

"What does she ever want with me?" Alwin replies curtly. "She's arranged a private luncheon with some Kinlord's son, and expects me to be there on Turdas."

"She's still playing the matchmaker?" Ayrenn asks, not even pretending to be surprised. "I thought you told her that you've no intention of marrying?"

"Apparently her hearing can be _very_ selective when she wants to. She keeps talking about our lineage, how I need children of my own, and I am so _sick_ of hearing it!" A silver bolt of magic flies from Alwin's hand, and splashes harmlessly onto the ground.

Ayrenn wraps her arm around Alwin again, rubbing at her shoulder soothingly as Alwin takes deep breaths to calm herself down. Much like Sielaire, patience is one of Alwinarwe's strong points. When either of them loses their temper, it's a sure sign they're being stretched to the very limit.

"It's alright, Alwin. You don't need to have one if you don't want to. Besides," Ayrenn croons, giving her cousin a squeeze. "If your mother insists, just remind her that you're the Proxy Queen – and you already have a Proxy Heir."

That gets a snort from Alwin, who relents with a short laugh. "You're unbelievable," she says, glancing at where Astaire is now sitting on the grass with Sielaire, the pair focused on something in Sielaire's hands.

"Or – how about this? _I_ will keep your family off your back. Personally."

Alwin raises a brow, thinking. "You won't see them until…our dinner next week?"

"Yes. I will tell them in no uncertain terms, that my beloved cousin Alwinarwe shall have no child of her own, unless she wishes it."

Alwin laughs again. "You really don't have to, Ayrenn. But…it'll be something to see."

"That's the spirit!" Ayrenn says. "Just leave it to me, Alwin. I'll watch out for you, just as you've always done for me."

A gentle smile curves Alwin's lips, as Ayrenn gives her a peck on the temple. She clasps Ayrenn's hand in thanks, before they turn their gazes to the pair entering the pergola. Sielaire is carrying Astaire, who's wearing a flower crown on her head, and clutches in her hand a small bunch of purple orchids – which she holds out to Ayrenn and Alwin.

"For both of you," Sielaire explains, and they take the flowers gladly.

"Thank you, little Star," Alwin coos, tapping on Astaire's nose and getting a giggle in response.

Ayrenn smiles as Sielaire places the girl in her lap. "My dearest little princess," Ayrenn sings as she wraps her daughter in a hug, and Astaire grins up at her, looking ever more precious with flowers in her blonde hair.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know Dusk isn't a proper place, much less a city in the DLC. But in this fic, Alwin's family home there is a castle estate.

And it isn't explicitly stated here, but I headcanon Alwin to be ace - hence why she has no interest in a marriage, loveless or not, and absolutely doesn't intend to reproduce. (Works out too cos she won't have an heir who might want to compete for the throne lol)


	15. Aldmeri - 6

Though Astaire's eyes have long fluttered shut in peaceful slumber, her hand still clutches at Sielaire's fingers, as if she's reluctant to let her mother go, even in sleep. Not that Sielaire has any intention of leaving just yet – she continues patting gently at the comforter covering the girl, as Ayrenn hums the last bars to an old song of the moons and seas. Her wife's reluctance is understandable, of course; but when Ayrenn hums the last note, voice fading subtly away, she doesn't give Sielaire the time to change her mind.

"Let's go, love."

Sielaire grimaces and makes a short, unwilling sound in her throat. "But she might wake up again. You know she often wakes up in the middle of the night."

"Yes, and she'll have to get used to waking up alone."

"You sound so cold."

"No, my dear. You're just overprotective." Ayrenn smiles at the slight pout on Sielaire's lips. "Come on. Let's leave the little one to her rest."

Ayrenn rises from the bed and, with two short puffs, extinguishes the candles on her side. She turns to watch Sielaire plant a gentle kiss on Astaire's forehead, before standing and pulling up the wooden rails of the crib. When the rails click into place, the inscribed metallic joints emit a faint green glow then dies away – a simple spell that ensures the rails remain immovable until an adult dissipates it. Still, Sielaire checks the rails one last time, before she blows out the two remaining candles, allowing the darkness of night to fall over the room.

But as Ayrenn walks to the adjoining door to their own bedroom, she pauses and looks back at Sielaire, who's still standing by the crib.

"Sie."

"It's very dark."

Ayrenn laughs under her breath, shaking her head. Since Astaire will be a year old in just a few weeks, they've decided – with advice from the nanny – to get the girl accustomed to sleeping alone in her own room. While the room beside theirs was being converted into the princess's chambers, they soaked up every lesson on keeping the baby safe even when she's alone, dealing with a child unable to adjust, and managing separation anxiety – theirs, and the girl's.

But it seems Sielaire is having trouble putting that last lesson to practice.

"It's dark because we put out the candles," Ayrenn explains needlessly. She raises a hand to beckon Sielaire over, and her wife casts one last glance at Astaire before following Ayrenn back into their bedroom. They leave the adjoining door open, just to keep watch in case the girl gets into any trouble or makes a fuss.

Sielaire plops onto their bed, lying on her back as she sighs, "I'm worrying too much."

"Yes, you are." Ayrenn yawns, passing by their study table to set a glass paperweight on some documents. "Astaire's been sleeping in her own crib just fine. A new room won't throw her off too much."

"You never know." Sielaire slips under the covers, which she holds up for Ayrenn to climb in as well. "My sister refused to sleep alone, and bunked in my room until she was eight."

"Must've been quite the struggle," Ayrenn humours her, draping an arm over Sielaire's chest. She smiles when her wife glances at the open doorway – it seems Sielaire may need a little distraction. "Oh, that reminds me – we haven't decided on Astaire's birthday present yet."

"What can we get her that the others won't?"

The reminder brings a sigh to her lips, and Ayrenn snuggles into Sielaire's neck. Astaire's first birthday celebration will be a grand and public affair, as is the tradition for royal heirs. Ayrenn can barely remember her own, but she has no doubt it involves a long line of nobles fawning over her with opulent gifts. Not to mention a boring ceremony where the heir receives the blessing of Auri-El, but she wagers it'll be less tedious than the nobles.

"We can get her…a cat doll."

"She has plenty of real cats already," Sielaire reminds her, fingertips grazing through Ayrenn's hair. "Besides, Alwin's getting a doll for her."

"Is she now? Damn Alwin," Ayrenn drawls, making Sielaire's ear twitch as she caresses its tip. "You have any ideas?"

"Well, I was planning to make her a small cake myself. Like the ones I had when I was young."

"Oh, that's good. Shall I put in an order for more apples–?"

Ayrenn's tease is cut short, the pair freezing in place when they hear a soft call of _'mama'_ from Astaire's room. She holds Sielaire down when her wife starts to move, and they wait for a while, ears pricked for any further calls or movement from the girl. But the moments pass in silence, and Ayrenn exhales in relief.

"She must be dreaming–"

 _"Ma…ma?"_

 _Damn._

"No," Ayrenn murmurs, still holding Sielaire down when she tries to get up. "Remember what the nanny said – let her adjust by herself first."

Sielaire sighs quietly, her frustration and unease apparent. Her hand moves to Ayrenn's shoulder, stroking her wife gently in an effort to keep herself calm, when Astaire's voice floats through the doorway again, louder this time.

 _"Mama!"_

Ayrenn winces inside, while Sielaire's grip on her shoulder tightens at the anxious pitch in Astaire's voice. _'It'll be difficult,'_ the nanny had warned them – and as if to prove that very point, Astaire breaks into her first wail.

 _"Mama,"_ Astaire calls from her own crib, where she has been left all alone without her mothers' constant company at night.

Catching the stray thought, Ayrenn quells it as her frown grows deeper, listening to Astaire's sobs and cries grow louder. One option is to leave Astaire to her tears – it's a common method of letting a baby get used to sleeping alone. This, however, requires a lot of restraint from the parents; preferably parents who do not have separation anxiety themselves.

 _"Mama…"_

And Sielaire is not one of them.

"Damn it all," Sielaire growls. She pulls herself away from Ayrenn with a forceful tug, and rolls out of bed quickly. Lighting a candle on the nightstand with a spark of magic from her fingers, Sielaire stalks into her daughter's room while Ayrenn pushes herself up with a sigh.

As she crawls out of bed, Ayrenn can hear Sielaire cooing softly to the crying girl, "It's okay, little Star. Mama's here."

A smile parting her lips despite the situation, Ayrenn stands and stretches her body, then turns to watch Sielaire carry the girl back into their room, rocking Astaire in her arms as she sings little reassurances into the child's ear. Ayrenn walks over to them, running a hand down Astaire's barely ruffled hair. The little one, who has pressed her face into Sielaire's shoulder, gives another whine that soon disappears behind another sob. Her tiny fingers have dug into Sielaire's shirt, clutching tightly onto her mother.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Sielaire coos, rubbing Astaire's back soothingly. "Mama's got you. See? Mommy is here too."

She slowly coaxes Astaire from her shoulder, and guides the girl up to sit in the crook of her arm, looking at Ayrenn through weepy eyes.

"Aw, look at you," Ayrenn croons, nudging her cheek. "You're a right little mess, Star."

Astaire hiccups and coughs between sobs, as Ayrenn moves away to retrieve a handkerchief, which she uses to wipe the tears from the girl's face. But when Ayrenn tweaks her nose at the end, Astaire doesn't give her usual giggle or smile. She just hugs Sielaire about the neck again, and buries her head in her mama's shoulder.

"It's like she knows which mother wanted to leave her alone," Sielaire deadpans. And though Ayrenn gives her a flick on the forehead as a chide, she feels a twinge of guilt deep in her chest.

"I tried something new, and it didn't work, alright?" Ayrenn protests, tossing the handkerchief onto the nearest dresser. Her irritation must have showed, because Sielaire is quick to press a kiss to her lips.

"I know."

Ayrenn sighs, glancing at the girl clinging onto Sielaire. "I suppose there's no leaving her alone tonight."

"That'd be for the best. Think we gave her quite a scare."

As Sielaire moves towards their bed, Ayrenn nips into Astaire's room to grab her small pillow and bolster, and the gryphon doll that Astaire loves hugging to sleep at night. When she returns with items in hand, she finds Sielaire sitting on the bed with Astaire in her lap, keeping up a one-sided conversation with the girl in a sing-song voice. Ayrenn sets Astaire's things in the middle of the bed, then Sielaire has to coax the young one into lying down – Astaire still has a tight grip on her mother's shirt, and is only willing to let go after a _lot_ of coaxing and singing.

"Think the change was too sudden for her," Ayrenn muses, rubbing Astaire's stomach in circles, and smiling when the girl looks up at her. "I'm sorry, little Star."

Astaire sniffs, then gives a smile when Ayrenn taps her on the nose.

* * *

All is quiet in the audience chamber. Two soldiers stand at attention before the dais – captains of the Wings who have delivered their report, and are waiting for the axe to fall. Head resting on the tips of her fingers, Sielaire leans on the armrest of her throne, feeling an ache grow between her temples as she wrangles with the anger rising in her.

"Sunhold was under siege by the Maormer, and yet you – the _both_ of you – made the same decision to divert from your orders, and help a single town instead?"

It isn't a question, but they guessed – rightly so – that it is safer to answer instead of keeping quiet. "Yes, ma'am."

They've reverted to 'ma'am', from their customary 'Your Grace' – a sign that they currently regard Sielaire not as High Kinlady, but as their commander. As it should be.

"You split off _half_ the contingent I sent to reinforce Sunhold's defenses, just to fall for the Maormer's obvious decoy. Do you have any _idea–!_ " Sielaire has raised her voice into a shout, as she stands from the throne. "How many lives were lost because you decided _my_ orders were not important!"

"With all due respect, ma'am," one captain spoke, voice thin and nervous. "The lives we saved in town were not any less important than those in Sunhold."

"No, they are not. And you helped them," Sielaire concedes. "But that does not excuse the fact that your actions were downright _foolish!_ " She takes a step forward, and her soldiers nearly shrink in their armour. "There is a full garrison stationed at the Proxy Queen's estate in Dusk, just under a day's ride away. You could've sent a messenger to muster their forces, instead of staying to act as heroes, and ignoring the fact that the main Maormer force was trying to invade our major port!"

Neither of the captains dare to look her in the eyes, incensed as Sielaire is. And with her glare fixed on them, not to mention the anger that has overtaken her mind, Sielaire scarcely notices that the side door has cracked open.

"They would have succeeded had the Empress not sent an extra fleet as reinforcement, and your own comrades have _died_ in their charge because their ranks were too thin. You had no right to gamble with the fate of an entire city–!"

"Mama."

The young voice shocks Sielaire out of her tirade, and she turns her gaze to find Astaire standing beside the dais, looking up at her mother and blissfully unaware of the tension in the chamber. Sielaire opens her mouth wordlessly, trying to recompose herself in front of her daughter, and she frowns when Earilas walks in behind her.

"I apologise for the interruption, Your Grace." Earilas holds a fist to his chest and bows deeply. "But the princess was on the verge of tears when I refused to let her in."

Sielaire growls quietly. _This is not the time._ Still, she shakes off her mood and walks down to Astaire, lifting the girl into her arms – a big smile appears on Astaire's face as she does so.

"Where is her nanny?" Sielaire asks.

"On the way, I expect. As always," Earilas replies, daring to let a small smirk shine through, despite witnessing Sielaire's wrath from the corner of the chamber where he'd stood guard. He looks the two captains over. "Shall I take over, ma'am?"

Sielaire lets out a breath, turning her eyes back to the captains as well. "Yes. The both of you are hereby demoted to lieutenant. Dismissed."

The soldiers take their demotion stoically, and snap sharp salutes before following Earilas out of the audience chambers. Sielaire remains within, standing in place until the door is shut with an audible _thud_ , and heaves a sigh.

"Your timing was simply atrocious, Astaire." She regards the girl in her arms seriously, though Astaire only smiles and plays with a lock of her mother's dark red hair. "But I didn't scare you, did I?"

Astaire babbles in reply, and Sielaire mirrors her smile. Carrying the girl up to the dais, Sielaire settles into the throne and adjusts Astaire comfortably in her lap. "And you really have to stop this, little Star. You can't keep running off on your own to find me or Ayrenn. You might hurt yourself, or someone bad might catch you."

A heavy reminder, but Astaire misses its importance, contenting herself by playing with the royal signet on her mother's finger.

"Yes, that's our crest. See?" Sielaire leans forward, and guides Astaire's fingers to brush over signet ring. "This is an eagle, and above it is a star. Like you."

"Sah," Astaire repeats.

"One day, you'll wear this ring, and sit in this throne as well. You're our heir, little one. Do you understand?" Sielaire smiles when Astaire tugs on the ring, then loses interest and leans back into her mother. "But you won't have to worry about it for a long while. Just take your time and grow up well, alright?"

Just as Astaire cocks her head and struggles to stand in Sielaire's lap, the side door opens again to admit the royal nanny, who looks out of breath and utterly relieved to find Astaire with her mother.

"Oh, I am very, _very_ sorry, Your Grace!" Caralisse sweeps into a deep bow before Sielaire. "I merely took a step away to replace the princess's toys, and when I turned around, she was gone!"

"This is the third time now, Caralisse," Sielaire reminds her.

"Yes, Your Grace. And I am truly sorry. I am trying to improve, I swear!"

"Make sure you do. I don't like the idea of losing my daughter," she says sternly, and Caralisse bows her head in regret.

Sielaire eyes the younger mer – in truth, she is not much younger than Sielaire, but older than Ayrenn. The previous nanny – an old matron who is now retired – had recommended Caralisse for the position, citing a great knack for bonding with the children she cares for. And though Astaire does seem to love Caralisse, her caretaker has some obvious trouble in keeping track of her.

"Maybe we should get that anklet for Astaire," Sielaire suggests. "The type which alerts you when she strays too far away."

"An excellent idea, Your Grace. I shall have one for her by tomorrow." Caralisse gives a gracious smile and bows again. "Shall I take Astaire now?"

"Yes." Sielaire rises from her seat and hands Astaire to Caralisse, giving the girl a quick peck on her hand. "But remember – bring her back to the room earlier tonight."

"Of course, Your Grace."

* * *

As the sun starts its descent in the sky, Sielaire sets her tasks down for the day and goes off in search of Ayrenn. She finds her wife in the open field behind the castle, clad in elegant and lightweight hunting leathers, riding on horseback with a bow in her hands.

Sielaire joins the group of Altmer and Nord attendants waiting by the side, and watches as Ayrenn rises from her saddle and takes aim, firing an arrow that lands neatly in the farthest target, just on the border of the bullseye. The entourage standing behind Sielaire breaks into polite applause, then falls quiet again when the Nord ambassador takes his turn – following Ayrenn's path around the field and letting his arrow fly. Though his aim is poorer, and his arrow stabs at the edge of the same target, the attendants clap again – this time with a few Nords making friendly jabs at their ambassador, who has ridden back to them.

Looking away from the display of Nord camaraderie, Sielaire smiles at Ayrenn, who has dismounted her horse and came over to peck her on the cheek. Sielaire sweeps back the bangs that have escaped Ayrenn's ponytail, tucking them behind an ear, as the Nord ambassador approaches them.

"As I've said, Your Majesty. My aim with the bow is a far cry from my skill with the blade," he laments, rubbing at his full beard sheepishly.

"Don't sell yourself short. You have much better aim than when I first held a bow. At least you hit the target. My arrow landed in my distant cousin's rear end."

Sielaire bites on her bottom lip to refrain from bursting into a loud and hearty laugh akin to the Nord ambassador's.

"Surely you jest!"

"That is what my cousin wished, as well. But alas."

"A-ha! Again, I am very glad to find the Empress so full of humour," the ambassador says, with a polite bow of his head. Then he turns to Sielaire, examining her quickly. "And this must be the High Kinlady."

Sielaire returns his formal bow. "You must be Hroldar."

"None other." He smiles – but his gaze briefly turns sharp as he regards her in silence. "I have heard plenty of tales about you, Your Grace. Tales of your elegance, beauty…and prowess in combat. If we have the time, it would be an honour to cross swords with you."

Sielaire fights back a sigh – his invitation is hardly the first she's received from Nord delegates. Her reputation in Skyrim is either famous or infamous, depending on each individual's opinion, but the one consensus is this – the warrior who had delivered the killing blow in the Ebonheart Pact's dying throes, is a fearsome one indeed. Naturally, in recognition of her skill, the Nords seem to have reached an unspoken agreement to duel her whenever they have the chance – non-lethally, of course. But Sielaire is tiring of their…enthusiasm.

"The honour is mine," Sielaire replies politely, trying to ignore the eager gleam in Hroldar's eyes.

Ayrenn bids farewell to Hroldar for the day, then hands her bow and quiver to her attendants as the Nord entourage takes their leave. "I told you, Sie," she says, keeping her voice low. "They won't stop until you're dead."

"Then perhaps I should stage my death soon."

Ayrenn chuckles, turning to face her. "Were you looking for me?"

"Yes. We have our date tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yes! I'm sorry, dear. With Hroldar around, everything else just slipped my mind. He's very…rambunctious." Ayrenn fidgets with her hands, drifting off in thought before looking up at the sky. "It's getting late. I'll just head back for a wash, then–"

"It's alright. There's no rush." Sielaire takes Ayrenn by the hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as they walk back to the palace. "Besides, there's still some time before Caralisse brings Astaire back to us."

"If she hasn't lost the girl, that is," Ayrenn laughs.

"She lost track of Astaire again today," Sielaire tells her.

"I know." Ayrenn shoots her an impish smile when Sielaire looks at her curiously. "I ran across Astaire in the palace. How do you think she found her way to the audience chamber?"

* * *

"Slowly, Star," Sielaire warns the girl trying to tug her hand from her mother's hold, in an attempt to run ahead by herself. Despite Astaire's insistence, Sielaire waits patiently for Ayrenn to cast a modified levitate spell on their daughter, which will cushion Astaire should she fall. And when Sielaire finally sets her free, Astaire toddles forward excitedly, feet pitter-patting across soft white sands.

With her eyes on Astaire, Sielaire takes a deep breath of crisp sea breeze, and sighs in contentment. Ayrenn wraps an arm around her waist, pressing up to her side as they walk along the island's shore. Sielaire turns her head to kiss Ayrenn's temple.

"It's been too long since we've done this," she murmurs, getting a soft smile from Ayrenn.

"Mm. Thank you." Ayrenn rests her head on Sielaire's shoulder. "If you hadn't asked, I wouldn't have thought about it."

"So busy," Sielaire teases. "It's like you keep forgetting that you have a family."

Ayrenn stops suddenly, and lifts her head to meet Sielaire's gaze. "That's not true. No matter how much I have to deal with, you and Astaire are always on my mind."

"I know. I was just joking, love." Sielaire caresses her cheek, feeling a tinge of concern.

But Ayrenn's serious gaze falls away, and she sighs fondly as she turns back to the front, walking beside Sielaire in silence. Sielaire hugs Ayrenn by the waist this time, following in Astaire's footsteps as the girl skips along the shore, and pauses occasionally to stare out into the dark, glimmering waters. Each time Sielaire sings her name, Astaire looks back with a grin, and toddles forward again – thankfully avoiding the waves washing onto the shore.

"Tell me truthfully, Sie," Ayrenn says. "Do you think I've been…distant?"

Sielaire blinks, glancing over at Ayrenn – who is watching Astaire with an unreadable expression. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I worry. I know you understand when I'm scarce – you know the matters that I tend to. But Astaire, I… Sometimes it feels like the only time I see her, is when she's already asleep."

"That's how it is for me, as well." Sielaire tilts her head. "Has it been troubling you?"

Ayrenn nods, her frown growing deeper. "Sie, I know how it feels to have parents who are so…scarce around me. To have parents who are always away, doing important things that I didn't understand. Granted, I didn't begrudge them, but I also didn't…feel much towards them." She looks at Sielaire, troubled. "Do you know why it was so easy for me to run away? Because there was nothing holding me back. I wasn't attached to my parents, I wasn't attached to my home. I just…didn't care about them."

"You know that's different with Astaire. She's happy around you," Sielaire points out.

"Yes, but who's to say I didn't act the same when I was her age?" Ayrenn says with a wan smile. She runs a hand through her hair, turning her face to the sky as she lets out a heavy breath. "I want to build a peaceful empire before I hand it over to Astaire, so she wouldn't face the same troubles we have. But it's costing me the time I have with her."

"You're doing your best, Renn. We both are." Sielaire squeezes her about the shoulders. "All we can do is trust that we're doing the right thing."

"Assuming our judgment isn't flawed," Ayrenn says drily. "Still, I think we should make more time for Astaire. I don't want her to grow up without us."

"We've been with her all this while," Sielaire reminds her. "But yes, I think we should make time. I find myself missing her, sometimes."

"Mama!" Astaire calls, distracting them as she toddles back, holding up a sand-covered seashell in her hand. "Loh!"

"Oh look, mama!" Ayrenn croons, bending down to take the shell. "Astaire found a pretty little seashell! Such a talented little girl."

Sielaire takes the shell from Ayrenn as her wife tweaks the girl's nose, getting a muffled giggle in return. Cleaning the seashell as best she can with firm pats, Sielaire trails behind Ayrenn, who lifts Astaire into her arms and makes for the lone tree near the edge of the island. Ayrenn places Astaire into the toddler swing they'd attached to the tree's largest bough, and Sielaire hands the now-clean seashell back into Astaire's eager grasp. As the girl gazes at the shell in wonder, Sielaire gives the swing a gentle push. Astaire giggles at the movement, waving her seashell around as she sways back and forth through the air.

Glancing back at Ayrenn, who is watching Astaire with a gentle smile on her lips, Sielaire pulls her in by the waist, and kisses her softly. Ayrenn steals another kiss before they part, gaze bearing a hint of playfulness, and her eyes flutter shut as she touches their foreheads together.

"We'll do fine, Renn," Sielaire murmurs. "As a family."

Ayrenn rests a hand on Sielaire's arm, fingers digging briefly into her sleeve. Then she takes a slow breath. "We will. I promise."


	16. Chapter 16

Sielaire stands at ease before the desk, waiting patiently while Ayrenn reads her report. She tries to keep her eyes level with the windows behind the Queen's chair, giving Ayrenn that modicum of respect and privacy, but this simple act has become so inexplicably difficult to perform. Despite her efforts, her gaze often falls upon Ayrenn's face – the amused quirk of her brows, the slight twitch of her lips, curved in a faint smile… Part of her wonders how the drab report is entertaining the Queen so, while Sielaire admires the soft angles of her countenance, remembers how smooth Ayrenn's skin feels beneath her fingers–

She catches herself with a quiet breath, raising her eyes to stare out the windows again, amid a surge of self-chastisement. She has only gotten more distracted the longer her affair with the Queen goes on; her heart beats quicker, her eyes tend to linger on Ayrenn when they're together. Her breath catches whenever the Queen meets her gaze, and her mind is scattered for a fleeting moment as she looks away to feign ignorance, flustering beneath a picture of composure.

It is irresponsible, and more importantly, dangerous. As one of the Queen's closest guards, she cannot afford to let her attention slip – not for a second, and most definitely _not_ as often as she has slipped for the past few months. Sielaire has thought herself better than this – she _is_ better than this, but that's before she ever knew the caress of Ayrenn's fingertips on her skin, the way Ayrenn's lips tease over her own, the dulcet murmur of her name in her ear…

"I see things have been going well," Ayrenn says out of the blue, and Sielaire nearly jumps out of her skin, startled out of her musings. "Much less horse-related accidents in the Wings, hm? I see you're adapting as well as the Jade Dragoons."

Sielaire gives a smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty. There are still communication issues with the Bosmer and Khajiit recruits, but I suspect we'll sort it out easier, now that less soldiers are falling off their horses."

"Good to hear." The laugh is apparent in Ayrenn's tone. "But I see you've requested ponies for your soldiers as well?"

"Yes," Sielaire replies. "For my Bosmer troops. Most of our horses are so tall that they've had to jump on and off the horse's backs – something I'd prefer they not do. I've heard the Bosmer of Valenwood have a special breed of ponies trained specially for warfare, and I would like a few for my own troops."

"Ah, yes. I've seen them before." Ayrenn plucks a quill from her inkpot, and writes a separate request slip. "The Vinedusk Rangers use these ponies, and they can be quite terrifying in combat…even if they _are_ rather short." She smiles up at Sielaire, adding the request form to the stack on her desk, which a clerk will collect at the end of the day. "I'll have King Camoran send us some of his finest. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"I–, that's not necessary." Sielaire's voice grows quieter when Ayrenn raises a brow. "But thank you."

Ayrenn chuckles, standing from her chair. "I want only the best for my own. Surely you know that by now?"

"I do," Sielaire replies, steeling herself with each step Ayrenn takes towards her. But her commitment to propriety wavers under the simple touch on her arm.

"You're so tense," Ayrenn observes, sliding her hand up Sielaire's unarmoured arm. "I would've thought you'd be comfortable with me by now."

"I am." She doesn't resist when Ayrenn tugs her arms forward, and she walks two steps closer at the Queen's urging. Sielaire feels short of breath as she gazes down into Ayrenn's blue irises, slowly overtaken by black.

"Really," Ayrenn murmurs. She slips her fingers through Sielaire's belt, and tugs her even closer, so they stand chest-to-chest. "Then kiss me."

Sielaire stares into her eyes longer, hesitation fading in a few heartbeats, and she leans in to press their lips together. Soft and chaste, and as always, Ayrenn's eyes bear a playful glint when Sielaire pulls back. Ayrenn threads her fingers through dark red tresses, then brings her lips to Sielaire's again – firmer, deeper, undeniable. Sielaire is swept away, helpless to do anything but bend to her lover's desire.

Restraint falls from her like broken threads, and Sielaire circles an arm around Ayrenn's waist, kissing and nipping at her lips with a force that makes Ayrenn hum in approval. Ayrenn prods at Sielaire with the tip of her tongue, and Sielaire delves into her mouth without second thought, meeting Ayrenn in an eager re-acquaintance since their rendezvous just the night before. It has only been hours, yet Sielaire finds herself wanting Ayrenn all over again.

Her hands roam, feeling every inch of Ayrenn's body that she has lavished with kisses in the night, now separated from her by the softest layer of silk. Ayrenn groans in pleasure, slinging both arms around Sielaire's neck, and pulls her into one last kiss before allowing Sielaire to retreat, their breaths mixing together in pants.

"Stay," Ayrenn whispers, and Sielaire has already given in. "I don't think I can wait 'til night to see you again."

Sielaire opens her mouth, but finds herself speechless. She glances around at Ayrenn's office, and says with a smile, "Right here?"

Ayrenn matches her smile with a sly smirk. "Is that what you want? I was just thinking about wine," Ayrenn laughs. "And you said _I_ was insatiable last night…"

"But you were," Sielaire teases, feeling indescribably soft under the warmth of Ayrenn's smile.

"Are you going to complain?" Ayrenn purrs, and kisses the sense from Sielaire's mind again. "Stay with me, Sielaire. Just take a break, have a drink. I want you to save some energy for tonight…"

Her ear twitches under Ayrenn's caress, and she leans her head into Ayrenn's touch, kissing her lover's palm. Sielaire looks back into Ayrenn's waiting gaze, heart squeezing with a certain tenderness. "Some wine would be nice."

* * *

"And how are your children, my dear Telaminye?" Ayrenn asks, smiling at the noblewoman two seats away from her. "I have heard plenty of praises about them, and I would love to hear more from you."

The lady bows her head graciously with a smile. "I am honoured, Your Majesty. They are doing very well, and have indeed accomplished much. My son is currently serving as an aide to a Sapiarch…"

Ayrenn listens politely, eyes bright with interest as she dines on the appetizer of thick, juicy scallops harvested from Auridon's waters. She has stayed in Firsthold for the past week, on a royal visit where the nobles of Auridon are given the chance to meet the Queen, either to build rapport or voice grievances that the monarch is expected to resolve. And, for the last six days, Ayrenn has heard her fill of grievances – chiefly about the influx of Bosmer and Khajiit since the Dominion was formed. It has given her frustration and headaches to no end, and Ayrenn is glad to finally sit the nobles down for a modest banquet, during which they will speak of no politics, just because the Queen is disinclined to mention it in the first place.

Still, by guiding the conversation towards a more personal, affectionate nature, Ayrenn is able to solve a problem of her own. Despite her return to the Blessed Isles over a year ago, the nobles are still split between supporting or opposing their Queen's vision and methods. Truth be told, most are still loyal to age-old Altmer traditions and dogma, and have trouble accepting the change that Ayrenn has wrought. She suspects their old faiths and views will not change for a few centuries yet, but they don't have to; Ayrenn wishes to win her people's hearts, so they will trust her to make changes for the better, even if they cannot envision this future themselves. And the first natural step is to build rapport – to ensure her people will listen, before they can be won over.

Ayrenn laughs when Telaminye recounts a humorous story involving her daughter's magical research, and the rest of the guests laugh along with her as their empty dishes are taken away, soon replaced by fragrant plates of cod and vegetables. Ayrenn waves away the servant who offers mushroom gravy for her fillet, and she sends him to fetch a small pot of butter sauce instead. Then she gestures for her guests to dig in first, and asks after another noble's family to keep the conversation flowing.

As the guests break into another round of laughter, the servant returns with the Queen's requested sauce, drizzling it over the piece of cod. And just as he bows away from the Queen, they're given pause when someone chokes audibly at the table. Ayrenn looks to the lord clutching at his throat, face turning a touch pale, as the servant hurries over to him. They can find no signs of choking, and the noble turns paler under their attention; Ayrenn squints and leans forward in her chair, noting the touch of black on the edges of the mer's lips.

"Get the healer, quick!" Ayrenn commands the servant, who bows and rushes towards the door. "Everyone, leave your plates–"

Her words are cut off when Telaminye slumps forward onto the table with an audible thud, her head knocking over a glass of wine, staining the white tablecloth red. The first noble slumps in his chair as well, seemingly unconscious, and he's soon joined by the rest of the guests, one after another.

Catching the lady who slumps in the seat adjacent to hers, Ayrenn holds two fingers under the mer's nose – and can feel no breath. The victim's complexion is sickly pale, and there's that same touch of black on her lips. Blood draining from her face, Ayrenn places the lady on the table and rises from her seat, praying that the lightness in her head is due to fear, not poison.

"Get the guards, now!"

* * *

Sielaire is just walking back to the barracks at the end of the day, stretching her stiff neck and shoulders, when she catches sight of the First Auridon Marines marching up to the castle with all haste. She frowns and jogs after them, wondering if there's an emergency – when she runs across Urcelmo, who's barking orders at his soldiers impatiently.

Urcelmo notices her as his troops scatter, and a hint of relief crosses his features. He moves towards her and speaks before she has to ask. "All the Queen's dinner guests are dead – poison, we suspect. And the assassin might be gone. I'm gathering my soldiers to secure the city, but half of them have been sent to Skywatch this morning," he growls, irritated. "I need you to stay with the Queen while I muster our forces."

Sielaire's heart drops at the news. "Take my Wings as well – they can comb the outskirts much faster. Send them to Skywatch and Vulkhel Guard if need be – search every dock on the island."

Urcelmo nods, and they part without farewell. Sielaire makes for the castle at double-time, and soon arrives at the dining hall, where Ayrenn is pacing by the head of the table with jagged steps. Sielaire makes straight for the Queen, her hand rising automatically to clasp Ayrenn's – but she stops herself halfway, and jerks it back to her chest in an awkward salute. Ayrenn, who has reached out as well, drops her hand and curls it into a fist.

"Your Majesty. It's not safe for you here," Sielaire says, glancing at the bodies slumped at the table, and the few laid out on the floor, being examined by healers. "We should move you to secure location."

"I am _not_ leaving," Ayrenn bites at her, brows furrowing deeper as her anger rears its head. "I will not leave until this matter is dealt with."

Indignation rises in Sielaire as she takes a step forward, but she stops before arguing with the Queen in public. Her eyes catch the brief, shaky exhale through Ayrenn's lips, and the wringing of her fingers as the Queen looks to her dead subjects. "Your Majesty," Sielaire says gently. "There is no guarantee the perpetrator will be caught today. It would be wise to move you somewhere else."

"Battlereeve–"

What's sure to be a chide is cut off when Razum-dar enters the dining hall, though with none of his usual ease. He bows his head to Ayrenn in greeting, and reports, "The Eyes have secured the castle, and we have detained the kitchen staff for investigation. We have cleared the library in the eastern tower for you, Your Majesty. I suggest that you stay there, until this…crisis is over."

Ayrenn narrows her eyes at Razum-dar's suggestion – it sounded more like an order. When her displeasure is known, Raz does the same as Sie, softening his tone. "Raz understands that you'd like to deal with the criminal yourself. But until we can catch them, there is nothing you can do, but wait. And Raz thinks you need to wait in safety."

He is serious, sincere – a rarity, as far as Sielaire knows. Ayrenn stares at him, then turns her gaze to the bodies again. She closes her eyes, and lets out a quiet sigh. "Very well."

Razum-dar smiles and bows gracefully, gesturing for them to follow him. Ayrenn keeps close to his heels, while Sielaire walks behind the Queen, hand hovering close to the hilt of her sword. They reach the empty library safely, its corridor lined with guards – and if Sielaire knows Razum-dar well enough, there are Eyes patrolling the rooftops as well.

"Please do not take your eyes off the Queen, Battlereeve," Razum-dar says as Ayrenn enters the library.

Sielaire nods and follows after the Queen, closing the door behind her. She casts a ward over the door, then does the same for the windows, before turning back to Ayrenn. The Queen stands stiffly by the writing desk, eyes fixed on the floor in a blank stare, but she looks up at Sielaire's approach and forces a smile.

"Lucky me," Ayrenn utters, her usual levity dying with the smile that fades away quickly. She holds the back of a hand to her mouth, and Sielaire notices the slight tremble in her fingers.

Taking a step forward, Sielaire asks, "Do you feel well?"

"No." Ayrenn gives an exasperated huff when Sielaire moves closer in alarm. "I'm fine. I just…" Her voice fades away, and she throws her hands up, starting to pace about the library. "I'm used to direct attempts on my life. I've fought off countless assassins even before I returned to Summerset. But to have an entire party die in front of _me?_ "

Ayrenn slams her fist against a shelf, though the heavy wood barely rattles under the impact. She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head as a weak, helpless laugh escapes her. "It was so _close_. I could've died with them, not knowing what had happened."

She covers her face with a hand, and Sielaire reaches out to her, clasping her arm gently. Guiding Ayrenn around to face her, Sielaire pulls her into a firm embrace, and Ayrenn leans into her gladly. Sielaire feels fingers digging into the thick fabric of her uniform, and Ayrenn's trembling breath against her neck.

"Stay with me, Sie," Ayrenn whispers. "Stay with me. Please."

"I'm not leaving you," Sielaire reassures her, rubbing her back soothingly. "You're safe here. I'll keep you safe."

* * *

Only hours later does Razum-dar show up to give the all-clear. They haven't caught the assassin yet, but the castle is well-protected by both guards and spies, and any suspect character can scarcely approach the Queen without alerting at least five people. He gives his preliminary report to Ayrenn – including the discovery that the poison was in the mushroom gravy, which all the guests have tasted, except the Queen. Ayrenn had been saved simply by her dislike for mushrooms, Razum-dar points out, and he smiles when Ayrenn's lips curves faintly at his little ploy.

He personally escorts the Queen back to her quarters, and that is where he leaves her, while Sielaire continues to stay by Ayrenn's side for the rest of the night. Since Sielaire is still dressed in her uniform, she has to borrow a pair of shirt and pants from Ayrenn's wardrobe. They're a little short – the pants barely covers her ankles, and the shirt exposes her midriff when she lifts her arms, but it's still comfortable. She notices Ayrenn's appreciative gaze as she climbs into bed, and wears a small smile as she kisses Ayrenn's forehead.

Though Ayrenn snuggles up to her, Sielaire has no intention of sleeping. She drapes a protective arm over Ayrenn, stroking her lover's back and hair as she waits for the Queen to fall asleep. It takes a long while – Ayrenn is still troubled by the day's events, and Sielaire has to reassure her each time she opens her eyes, lulling her into a sense of security so she can relax again.

When Ayrenn finally breathes that familiar snort in sleep, Sielaire glances at her and smiles. She stays in place a little longer, stroking Ayrenn's back with her fingers. And when she's certain Ayrenn is fast asleep, Sielaire pries herself away and rises from the bed. The stone floor is chill against her feet, and she welcomes it, hopping on the spot to get her blood pumping, so she wouldn't fall to nighttime lethargy. Sielaire glances back at Ayrenn, the sight of the sleeping mer soothing her senses, and she sets herself on a rhythmic pace around the room – a guard's patrol around her Queen.

The hours pass slowly, but surely. Sielaire doesn't stop – when the day's exhaustion starts to set in, a glance back at Ayrenn's slumbering form is enough to send her back on guard with renewed vigour. But halfway through the third hour, Ayrenn stirs in bed, reaching for the empty spot that Sielaire has left. At the murmur of her name, Sielaire stops her pacing and moves to the bed, sitting beside Ayrenn.

"Oh, Sie. I thought you'd left," Ayrenn mumbles, taking a deep breath as she wakes even further. She blinks up at the battlereeve, cogs slowly turning in her head. "Have you slept at all?"

"No."

"You need some rest."

"I'm fine, Ayrenn," Sielaire says, holding the hand that reaches up for her. "Don't worry about me, and get more sleep yourself, alright?"

Ayrenn gives a lazy smile, and pushes herself up with a heavy sigh. "I don't feel like it." She rests her head in a hand, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. Then she lifts her gaze, looking Sielaire over. "But you must be tired. You've been on duty since the night before."

"I know. But I can't rest unless I know you're safe." Sielaire holds Ayrenn's hand to her chest, feeling herself grow weak under Ayrenn's soft gaze. _I am afraid,_ she wants to say, _I am afraid of losing you_. But she chooses to smile instead, when Ayrenn kisses her.

"Thank you," Ayrenn says, quickly planting another kiss on Sielaire's lips. Then she looks about the room, cocking her head. "Since neither of us can sleep…I have an idea."

* * *

Ayrenn retrieves a chess set she'd found in the room's cabinet, and she places it on the coffee table, beside the hearth which Sielaire lights with a simple bolt of lightning. They play in silence, occasionally broken by a yawn or the tap of a glass piece on ornate wood, until Ayrenn finally remembers that chess makes her sleepy. Sielaire laughs at the revelation, and is more than glad to hold Ayrenn, who has scooted into her arms.

They recline in the sofa and pass the time with idle chatter – mostly from Ayrenn, while Sielaire listens and shares a thought or two. Minutes tick by, and the conversation slows as Ayrenn grows sleepier, eventually coming to a stop when Ayrenn falls asleep with her head nestled up to Sielaire's.

Sielaire stares into the fire, running her fingertips along Ayrenn's arm. Moments like these are…uncommon when she is alone with Ayrenn. Most of their rendezvous have been about sex, and though their need for each other has cooled since the first heated months of their affair, Sielaire still feels that magnetic pull towards Ayrenn, and she knows the desire is mutual.

It's quite ridiculous, Sielaire thinks, this attraction to the Queen. This is hardly the first fling Sielaire's been involved with, but _gods_ , this is the first one where she feels like an untried youth, hardly able to keep her hands off her lover at the slightest lewd suggestion. Ayrenn is fun, to be sure – _exciting_ even, given her status and her refusal to be bound by the shackles of her station. The Queen wants her battlereeve, _damn_ the consequences, and Sielaire cannot help but be swept along with Ayrenn's desires as well.

She does wonder, though, if she has gone too far. Sielaire's heart thuds an anxious beat when she recalls walking into the dining hall, where Ayrenn is the only one at the table left standing. It had taken all of her will not to sweep the Queen into her arms, to feel Ayrenn's warmth and know that she's okay. Sielaire cares for her, perhaps deeper than a mere guard should feel, but she cannot fathom disengaging herself from Ayrenn, not where they currently stand.

But _where_ do they stand?

Sielaire heaves a sharp sigh, then freezes when Ayrenn stirs at the movement. She gives Ayrenn a gentle squeeze in her arms, then reaches down to twine their fingers together. Ayrenn's fingers curl lightly over Sielaire's, before she settles back into her lover and drifts off to sleep again.

Moments pass in silence, and when Ayrenn starts snoring softly, Sielaire closes her eyes for the first time that night. She exhales slowly, pushing extraneous thoughts from her mind. Ayrenn is alive and well, sleeping peacefully in her arms – this is all she needs to know, for now.

* * *

 **A/N:** Been thinking about Raison and how much of their relationship was glossed over due to timeskips. I'll probably fill in the gaps with future chapters...

Haven't been able to reply to comments here on FF, so thank you so much, you who are reading this!


	17. Chapter 17

Bruised and bloodied after a lengthy campaign in Wrothgar, the Dominion army takes but a moment to breathe and recover, taking heart in their victory over the dauntless Orsimer, before marching towards Rivenspire. With Ayrenn at its head, the Dominion fights and pays for each step they take in Breton lands. The playing field changes with the face of their foes – where magic had been their greatest advantage over the Orcs, it's now merely a common tool in their war with the Bretons, who are well-versed in spellplay and capable of holding fast against Altmer battlemages. It is a constant game of move and countermove, weaving equal amounts of cunning and ingenuity into their magically-bolstered strategies, to gain a foothold over their enemies.

At times, Sielaire appreciates the stout resistance of the Bretons – she often admires their tactics when she is forced to retreat from the field. But in truth, she would rather the battles be smoother, the Bretons easier to defeat. Too many times has she ended up in the healer's tent with broken bones and bleeding wounds. Too many soldiers has she witnessed breathe their last while their comrades watch in silent, helpless tears. Too many times has she flown to her Queen's side in the midst of battle, clasping a hand over Ayrenn's wound or breaking the shaft of an arrow sunk into her body.

A grim reality of war still difficult to swallow after all these years, but Sielaire is used to its bitter taste in her mouth, driving her ever onward from one battle to the next.

Sword glinting under the sun, Sielaire cuts down soldier after soldier, blade quick as the lightning that flashes from her fingers, leaving bodies and ashes in her wake. As her Wings surge forth from her sides, she pauses to take a breath and looks around at the battlefield. Dominion soldiers are locked in heated battle with the Breton forces, who are bolstered by a smattering of Orsimer and Redguards in a weak facsimile of the broken Covenant. They've been here for what feels like hours now, and Sielaire is dismayed to find that they've achieved no progress. The Dominion is nowhere nearer to the city they've been marching towards, and their foes show no signs of giving ground just yet.

Frowning, Sielaire peers into the distance, and catches sight of that polished off-white of King Emeric's armour. It had been a surprise to spot him leading the troops – intelligence from the Eyes had them believing that Emeric was with his own forces in Wayrest. Unfortunately, they hadn't had the luxury of time to analyse this anomaly, before their foes had charged towards them.

As she watches, Emeric fends off countless Dominion soldiers, swinging his sword in precise and energetic strokes. But he and his guard are slowly being pushed back, and when they've lost enough ground, he hollers a command that Sielaire can just barely make out amid the din of battle, _'Hold them off!'_ His head turns towards the Queen, before he runs off with half of his guard covering his tracks, and leaps onto the horse a footman has led out to him. Sielaire whips her head towards Ayrenn, who has been watching Emeric's actions as well. The Queen raises her sword towards Sielaire, then points it in Emeric's direction and roars, _'After him!'_

Sielaire snaps into action. Lightning crackles around her fingers, and she sends two bright sparks up into the air: a command for the Fury's Wings to mount their horses. Sielaire winds and slashes her way through the chaos, and reaches the backlines where the non-combatants have hunkered down, and are guarded by a dedicated troop. She makes for the horses that have been left behind by the Wings, and mounts her own armoured warhorse along with her soldiers.

"On me!" Sielaire shouts, spurring her horse into action.

Her dragoons thunder across the field, magic flashing and crackling as they clear a path towards Emeric, who has broken away from the fighting, blazing an escape route that borders close to a ravine. Despite the Bretons' best efforts, Sielaire and her Wings are upon Emeric's heels in no time, and they leap off their horses to resume the charge on foot.

In a surprise move, Emeric and his company halt in their tracks and turn back to face the Wings, weapons hefted and steady – completely unlike the desperation of fleeing soldiers. Sielaire slows her pace when she comes close enough to get a good look at Emeric's face – and discovers it isn't Emeric at all. Merely a Breton of similar age and build as the king.

 _A trap_ , Sielaire realises, just as the imposter king yells to his troops, "Cut off the Queen's wings!"

And the battle begins. Sielaire fights through the onslaught of Breton troops, suffering an axe slash to her cloth-covered arm and numerous nicks to her armour, before she blows the surrounding soldiers clear with a blast of magic. While her foes scramble to their feet, Sielaire leaps towards the unguarded 'Emeric', and engages him in combat. He is sturdy and quick enough to block and dodge Sielaire's sword swings, and he's able to conjure wards to dissipate Sielaire's lightning before it touches him. But where he is robust and immovable, Sielaire is agile and relentless – aided with the swiftness of magicka-enhanced steps, Sielaire flashes towards an opening her opponent has left in his attack, and pierces her sword under his arm, driving it near enough to nick his heart.

'Emeric' gives a wet gurgle as blood drips from his lips, and he grabs onto Sielaire's pauldron, lips parting in a crooked grin. "For the Covenant," he growls.

Just then, a deafening explosion shakes the air. As the ground rumbles beneath her feet, Sielaire shoves 'Emeric' off her sword, and turns around to find a ragged fissure cut into the ground, no doubt by the violent burst of magical force Sielaire felt seconds ago. She takes a step forward, and her heart stops when the ground starts to give beneath her feet – the fissure has cut off this section of the cliffs neatly, dooming it to fall into the ravine below.

"Run!" Sielaire cries, waving for her Wings to follow in the Bretons' footsteps – many of their foes have been caught in this devious trap as well.

She stops many times to haul her soldiers to their feet, and she has grabbed a Khajiit by his chest harness, flinging him across the widening fissure, when gravity takes hold of her body. The Khajiit turns around to grab her hand, but he's too late – the commander of the Wings falls with half of her dragoons.

* * *

Even Ayrenn, in all her ferocity and valour, is tiring from the battle. Everyone is. There is a point in every fight when the combatants start to slow down, their sword swings driven by necessity, drained of their initial fire – and Ayrenn believes they have gone well past that point of lethargy.

Her hair beneath her crowned helm is damp, and sweat drips down her face like rain. Her left hand is uncomfortably warm from the constant use of destructive magic, and her right is growing number with each strike of her blade. When she drives her sword through the throat of a Redguard, who looks as exhausted as she feels, she wonders if it isn't time to call for a retreat. Little good can come of this battle, where their numbers have been whittled down for no clear purpose, and will only end with a decrease in morale.

Ayrenn looks up from the Redguard who falls to the ground, and as she takes a deep breath, she notices something odd – the Covenant soldiers seem to be disengaging from the battle, sprinting off in a hasty retreat. Her soldiers look to her for orders, but she pulls on a smile instead, and raises her sword to the air – a declaration of victory, even if she doesn't feel it is so. And if her troops share her doubt, they do not show it. They raise their faces to the sky in a victory cry, then clasp onto their fellow survivors as they move back to regroup.

The Queen raises a hand when her guards gather around her – a quiet command to wait, as she scans the soldiers moving past her, feeling a faint worry when she doesn't spot that green-clothed figure. Her brows furrow into a frown when a Wing approaches her on his horse, and dismounts quickly to kneel before her. The Khajiit bows his head to report the Wings' chase after the imposter king, and their success in ending his life.

But when he points towards the cliffs, Ayrenn's heart plummets.

* * *

Her first order is given to the soldiers standing in reserve – to search the cliffs and the ravine below for their lost troops. Then she orders for the camp to be set up, so the wounded can be tended to, and the soldiers given some reprieve while the commanders plan their next move. Losing more than half of the Fury's Wings is a substantial blow to the main force – Sielaire and her dragoons have been an important part of their tactics in the war so far – and the commanders respectfully defer to Ayrenn's decision to stay. With their numbers depleted, it will be wise to stay and wait for the recovery of their lost soldiers, or reinforcements from their garrisons in Orsinium.

But Ayrenn suspects they've given her a sliver of personal allowance as well. The Queen's affair with Sielaire is a well-known secret among their people, and this _…setback_ has left a deep wound in Ayrenn's heart _._ Perhaps they sense that the Queen will not go on without her most important battlereeve…

 _Damn it. Damn it!_

Ayrenn wrings her fingers tightly, heart aching as she reaches for the wedding band again, channeling her magicka into it. No matter how much of her energy suffuses the ring, it remains as cold as her body feels. But it doesn't stop her from trying again and again; hoping, praying, begging with the gods that she can feel an answer. An answer from Sielaire. But the ring remains inert – never coming alive with the warmth of a reply from her wife.

In her frustration, Ayrenn rams her fist onto her desk, and the wood cracks audibly beneath her blue-glowing knuckles, before she hears a gentle purr, "Now, now. Raz thinks the training dummy would be a better target…"

Ayrenn huffs in irritation. "Shut up," she utters, pacing around the tent again.

Razum-dar waits patiently, watching Ayrenn walk in aimless circles, fingers always fidgeting with her ring. When she opens her mouth to speak and fails, he fills in the silence for her, "This one heard what has happened, and has sent many Eyes to scour the cave systems in the ravine. We will find her."

 _Empty promises_. Ayrenn's throat tightens, and she shakes her head. "The caves are extensive here. It may take too long. We cannot stay here forever." The dispassionate analysis sends another stab in her chest, and she covers her face with a hand, in a futile attempt to compose herself.

"Then let's hope the moons shine on us," Raz says. He moves forward to where she has stopped in her pacing, and peers at her in concern.

"I can't feel her, Raz," Ayrenn whispers, touching her ring again. "I can't feel her. What if she is–, I can't lose her." Her hand trembles as she screws her eyes shut, tears streaking down her cheeks. "I can't lose her."

Paws reach up to her head, and she bends down gladly as Razum-dar guides her to his shoulder. Ayrenn presses her face into his shirt, and covers her mouth with a hand as sobs wrack her body.

* * *

Despite her body feeling deader than a log, Sielaire jerks a hand up in defense when someone touches her arm. But she stops gathering magicka when she hears that familiar voice speaking over her.

"Ma'am. Please don't kill me right after I survived that fall."

Cracking her eyes open, Sielaire squints up at Earilas, and the wet strands of blond hair stuck to his forehead. He has bruises and cuts all over his face, and his uniform has seen similar wear, but he doesn't seem the least concerned with himself at the moment.

Earilas smiles when Sielaire frowns at him. "Great, your ears are working. I've checked you over, you don't seem to have any grave injuries. Here, let's get you up."

He grasps onto her arm and hauls her up, but stops when Sielaire cries out, motioning for him to lay her back down. He does so gently, and Sielaire struggles to breathe through the stabbing pain in her ribs. Earilas holds her down by the shoulders to stop her writhing, and he's tipped off to her injury by the hand she clutches to her ribs, and the pained gasps she takes.

"Hold on, ma'am. I'll take care of it."

Earilas takes her hand away, and Sielaire digs her fingers into the soil beneath her instead, while her lieutenant weaves a healing spell that slowly alleviates the pain. Her breaths grow easier with each second that passes, and soon, she's able to fill her lungs with air without trouble. She presses a hand against her ribs to check for any flaws in the spell, and is satisfied when no pain flares at her prodding.

"You're getting better at this," Sielaire mutters, pushing herself up. Her whole body is aching, as if it'd been tossed around in a barrel full of rocks. It might very well have been the case, Sielaire thinks, as she eyes the rocks jutting up from the fast-flowing river they are seated by.

"I've only had years to practice," Earilas replies, and she quietly marvels at his ability to stay jovial even after the near-death encounter.

Sielaire nods and rises to her feet without a word, glancing around to take stock of her surroundings. The Wings who are already awake and moving, are currently busy dragging out their comrades who lay half-submerged in the river. There's a short line of dead bodies laid out by the side, and Sielaire has little doubt there'll be more when they're done. _Whether_ they can be done, however…

Sielaire looks up at the cliffs towering over them on both sides, and finds no discernable path leading up to the surface where the battle was. Have they been washed far away from the site of battle, from the main Dominion army? The Queen… Ayrenn will wait for them, right? Wait for her…

Her heart clenches as she reaches for the wedding band on her finger, and is surprised when she can feel its cool golden surface instead of the glove that covers it. She looks down to find the glove torn, half-hanging from her hand, and she rips it away. Sielaire takes another glance at her ring, glistening from river water, and she takes it off as well, wrapping it in the ripped cloth before stuffing it into one of her belt pouches.

Sucking in a deep breath through her mouth, Sielaire exhales and turns to find Earilas looking intently at his compass. Her mouth quirks at the confusion etched into his brows, and she turns her attention away to scan their surroundings. A thick forest lines the riverbanks, and according to the Dominion scouts' reports of this area, there should be an extensive system of caves nearby. Perfect for a makeshift camp, and for hiding from enemy troops should they come searching.

"Search farther up and down the river," Sielaire commands, and her Wings turn to her attentively. "But don't roam too far. We'll search for survivors and bodies for an hour, before we find a cave for shelter. We can't afford to remain exposed for too long"

Knowing better than to shout in the affirmative, her soldiers salute to her – albeit tiredly – before resuming their grim task with the commander at their side.

* * *

Sielaire waits by the cave mouth, arms crossed as she looks out into the forest, hoping nothing has happened to her soldiers. Earilas has led a scouting party out to look for signs of a Dominion camp above, and while she knows he is more than capable of handling himself, she still worries – and gives herself yet another chide. Earilas is the only lieutenant she has groomed to assume her role should something bad befall her, and thus he is the commander the Wings default to, when Sielaire isn't around. She should've left him behind with Ayrenn, so there's someone to rally the remaining Wings in her absence, and guard the Queen while she's indisposed…

Shaking her head, she lets out a sigh that attracts glances from the two guards standing by the sides, before they return their focus to the forest beyond. The soldiers have made camp in the driest cave they could find, one with just enough space to house their wounded comfortably, and is nicely hidden by the trees. But it has been four days, and while Sielaire does wish to give her soldiers more time to heal, they cannot stay for much longer. If no help arrives from the Dominion soon, they will either have to find the camp themselves, or stay in the cave while their supplies run out, dooming more to die from their wounds due to the lack of proper care.

Discretely, she touches the armour protecting her abdomen. She wears bandages beneath her uniform, holding together a stab wound from a skirmish with a Covenant search party she'd stumbled across the day before. It was a messy battle that left her battered squad struggling to even stand, and they'd reached the base only hours later. Though Sielaire had tended to her wound the instant they were in safe grounds, she's still worried…

Ignoring the unusual chill on her skin, and the dull aches in her body, Sielaire turns back to the front when movement rustles the bushes ahead. She grasps her sword's hilt lightly, but her caution falls away when Earilas and company stalks into sight, only letting their guard down when they've entered the cave mouth.

"The Breton search parties are still around," Earilas says. "Seems they haven't given up. You know, I'm starting to think that they're misleading our own people…"

"Possible, but I would think our own are more capable than that." Sielaire tilts her head in thought. "Or…they're not as familiar with the territory as the Bretons."

Earilas nods, and Sielaire falls into silence. She looks back into the cave, where her soldiers are lying on the floor, or are huddled around the fire, munching on berries and meat they've hunted. There can be any number of reasons why they haven't spotted Dominion colours in so long, but Sielaire doesn't want to sit and wonder anymore. They have to move, and put a gamble on that narrow uphill slope that Earilas had found yesterday.

"Listen up," Sielaire says, keeping her voice low enough so it won't travel from the cave. "I want all of you to get ready. After tonight, we are moving out."

* * *

Ayrenn has waited for nearly a week, and her hope has slowly died along with the subtle levity that buoys her authoritative mien. The Queen is now harsher and more impatient, trying desperately to keep a firm grip on the situation, while battling another war within. Too many days have passed since Ayrenn had decided the army will stay and wait. Reinforcements from Wrothgar are taking too long to arrive, and only a few still have hope that the lost dragoons will be found and returned to their ranks. Ayrenn is one of the few, but she is far too aware of her commanders' growing restlessness as well.

Time spent waiting is also time that the enemy can use to reinforce their defenses, and prepare for the Dominion assault. Or worse, now that their foes are aware of their general position, they may launch another attack while the Dominion force is still weakened. Danger grows with each passing day, and no matter how Ayrenn weighs the scales, her people will always command more value than the one soul she is waiting for. And so the Queen steels her resolve, ordering their camp to pack and move.

But it is too late. While the Altmer Queen's heart was torn and undecided, their foes had regrouped and marched back with renewed strength, charging towards the Dominion camp in the midst of their packing. Under Ayrenn's fierce command, fueled by her searing anger that bursts to life at the sight of those _murderers_ , the Dominion soldiers pull together just in time to meet the Covenant's first charge. Their camp's borders are breached in the initial strike, but furious retaliation soon turns the ground red with Covenant blood, and the invaders are forced out of the camp, inch by inch.

Though the Dominion fights with all their might under Ayrenn's lead, she can tell that they are in a bad position. The Covenant's numbers seem to have been replenished, and will soon overwhelm the tired Dominion soldiers if Ayrenn doesn't think of a way out for her people. But as she ponders a reckless assault on the Breton commander, aided by the indomitable magic of her battlemages, Ayrenn is given pause when she spots movement in the distance, closing in behind the Covenant forces.

Ice pours into her veins when she thinks it is a Covenant reinforcement, but she is taken aback by the twin flashes of lightning that rends through their foes. Ayrenn stops dead for a full heartbeat, before her heart swells with hope, a war beat pounding in her chest. As the next lightning storm tears through the Covenant's flank amid a torrent of destructive spells, Ayrenn takes advantage of their enemies' shock, and roars for her troops to reform their lines and charge forth once more.

Heartened by the sight of such familiar magic, the Dominion soldiers heft their weapons with squared shoulders, and sprint forward on the heels of their Queen, ripping into the Covenant ranks with abandon. Ayrenn's lips slowly part into a bloodthirsty grin as she hacks and slashes through the swarm of Covenant soldiers, carving a way towards the raging tempest, which seems to be finding its way to her as well.

With their formation broken from two sides, and an imminent rout looming over their heads, a Covenant war horn sounds from its backlines – a single, crude note ordering the soldiers into retreat. The Dominion troops cut down as many fleeing soldiers as they can reach, before stopping the chase to relish their victory, then start a search for the living among the bodies scattered about the battlefield. But Ayrenn doesn't pay any mind to her soldiers, casting her eyes about in search for the one she yearns for.

It doesn't take long – one would be hard-pressed to spot the unique attire of this battlereeve. Ayrenn takes slow, uncertain steps in her near-disbelief, before Sielaire turns towards her, and the growing smile on the battlereeve's face shatters her restraint. Breaking into a run, Ayrenn flies across the field and leaps straight into Sielaire's arms, glimpsing the flash of surprise on her wife's face, as she clutches Sielaire tightly in an embrace – in plain sight of their troops.

But Ayrenn doesn't care. _She doesn't care._ She'd thought she has lost her wife, made the decision to abandon the search for her love, only to be saved by Sielaire's miraculous return? Damn the rules, and damn etiquette, nothing can pry Ayrenn from her wife, not even–

Ayrenn pauses, opening her moist eyes when she realises her cheek is pressed against Sielaire's skin – which is uncomfortably warm. She pulls back from the embrace, and notices something wrong with Sielaire's expression. The battlereeve looks haggard, with deep shadows beneath her eyes, and dirty strands of hair hanging about her face. But her eyes – they gaze upon Ayrenn with love that shines through a glassy stare.

"Sie?" Ayrenn cups Sielaire's cheek, flushed skin hot against her palm. "You're burning up. I think you have a fever."

"Yeah," Sielaire utters, and alarms Ayrenn when she sways on the spot. "I've been…for a day, maybe."

Ayrenn's eyes falls upon Sielaire's stomach, where the battlereeve clasps gingerly with a shaking hand, soon stained with blood.

"I might…need a healer," Sielaire says, before collapsing onto Ayrenn.

* * *

Sielaire's entire body seems to protest the moment she wakes, and she lies still in defeat for a while, feeling her head swim even though she hasn't moved an inch. When the dizziness has passed, and the aches in her body have dulled, Sielaire cracks her eyes open to find herself lying in the Queen's tent. It is dark, and the only light comes from the desk where Ayrenn is hunched over, writing on something with her quill, a deep frown etched on her brows.

Sielaire stares at her wife for a moment – she has always found Ayrenn to be quite attractive while she is focused on work. She gets this stern expression on her face, a true reflection of her tireless drive for the Dominion, perhaps. It is such a stark contrast to that playful, devil-may-care attitude she has around Sielaire, but Sielaire loves it all the same. And only in times like this, while she lies in bed unnoticed by her wife, is Sielaire able to appreciate this side of her…

Ayrenn dips her quill into the pot with a quiet huff, and glances briefly at Sielaire's direction – then does a double-take. She drops her quill immediately, and stands from her desk, grabbing the lantern as she walks to the bedroll. Setting the lantern on a nearby stool, Ayrenn sits beside Sielaire and strokes her cheek in greeting. She tries to stop Sielaire from sitting up at first, but when Sielaire refuses to be pushed back down, Ayrenn gives in and helps her up.

"It…feels chilly," Sielaire rasps, clearing her throat. Her breaths are a little heavy from the exertion, and she sits with shoulders slumped.

"It's your fever, love. It hasn't subsided." Ayrenn feels about her neck and face with a hand. "But your temperature has fallen much since we gave you the medicine. Do you feel uncomfortable?"

"A little. But I'll be fine." Sielaire smiles, reaching up to trail her fingers over Ayrenn's cheek – a sensation she'd missed dearly during her arduous trek up to the command camp. "Are you hurt?"

"Shallow wounds, but they're healed now." Ayrenn's gaze turns unbearably soft at her concern. "It's just like you to worry about me, right after you were…"

Sielaire waits when Ayrenn's voice trails off, and the ensuing silence doesn't soothe her nerves. So she tries to coax Ayrenn out of her brooding. "I know I was gone for a while. I'm sorry," she sighs. "I thought you'd have moved the command camp by the time we reached this location…"

"We were going to," Ayrenn admits heavily. "We've waited for too long, and I… _Gods_ , Sie. I thought you were dead. I tried to contact you through our rings, but I could feel nothing from you. I thought you were _dead_."

Sielaire's heart aches when Ayrenn's voice trembles. "I'm sorry, beloved," she says, though she cannot help letting a hint of laughter colour her tone. "I took it off after we fell… Didn't want to dirty it any further. So I kept it in my pouch."

"You–" Strained laughter breaks through Ayrenn's thick voice, and she wipes roughly at the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "You made me worry, made me think you were _dead_. And here you are…"

Ayrenn stares at her with that weak smile on her lips, before cupping Sielaire's face and pulling her in for a kiss. Sielaire yields under the firm press of Ayrenn's lips, losing bits of breath with each kiss that Ayrenn gives. She returns her wife's kisses with fervour that deepens with each pass, but she pauses when she feels moisture on Ayrenn's cheeks. Sielaire moves back by a hair, just as Ayrenn clutches her shirt and breaks into a sob.

"I'm sorry," Ayrenn utters. "I'm sorry, Sie. I was going to leave you for dead. I was going to–, but I can't. I can't–"

Sielaire draws Ayrenn close, holding her wife firmly as Ayrenn breaks into ragged sobs on her shoulder. Ayrenn's arms circle around Sielaire as well, while she is rocked gently in comfort.

"It's alright, Renn. I understand," Sielaire whispers. "It's not your fault."

"I can't live without you, Sie. I can't."

"I know. And you don't have to. I'm here now. I'm here with you." Sielaire strokes Ayrenn's back, hearing her wife fight against the sobs. "Even if you'd left, I would've fought the entire world just to be with you again."

What sounds like choked laughter breaks through Ayrenn's quiet crying. "Even after I abandoned you?"

"I know you had no choice. Ayrenn, I know that you love me, as much as I love you. You would never leave if you knew that I was still alive."

A long moment of silence meets the end of her words, while Ayrenn sniffs and tries to even out her breathing. She turns her face into Sielaire's neck, fingers digging into her shirt. "I'm–, I love you, Sie. I love you so much."

Sielaire smiles gently, and clasps her wife's fist, pressing it to her heart. "I love you too, my dear. And I shall never be parted from you so long as I still draw breath."

Ayrenn gives a choked sob, then nods against her. She clings onto Sielaire longer, before her body starts to relax in her wife's hold. Sielaire closes her eyes and rests her head on Ayrenn's, throat constricting briefly, before she smiles and buries her face into soft blonde locks.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sie's skills:  
\- War tactics  
\- Swordplay and destruction magic  
\- Cat hoarding  
\- Falling off cliffs  
\- Fainting dramatically onto wife after battle


	18. Healing - 1

Ever since the Dominion wrested full control of the Imperial City, the White-Gold tower has been empty, avoided due to the cold touch of residual echoes left behind by powerful Daedric magic. Whatever foul spell the Worm King had woven within the tower, no one shall ever know – no trace of him or his cultists can be found. All they are left with, are the broken remnants of the tower, and guesses at the horrors that had taken place inside. The stories themselves are enough to keep the soldiers away – all but one, who is willing to brave the cold, oppressive air in darkened passageways, and find a spot between its crumbled walls that affords a moment of quiet.

Sielaire's body is wound tight – it has been since her escape from Pact captivity – but she forces her muscles to relax, leaning back on charred stone covered in a layer of dust. Idly caressing the circlet in her hands, she stares out at the ruined city, abandoned but still standing beneath a red-tinted orange sky. The sight is poignantly beautiful – it had captivated her when she stood atop the tower weeks ago, the only survivor of a three-way battle, with broken shackles weighing on her wrists. But as mesmerising as it was then, Sielaire's senses have long since been dulled to its novelty. She can no longer appreciate a beautiful sunset, not when she can smell blood, brimstone, and rot in the air.

Darkness creeps into the edges of her consciousness, but Sielaire forces it back with a glance down at the silver circlet in her hands. She reads the inscriptions in ancient Altmeris, feeling the latent protective energy within the metal. This gift, which has given her comfort and safety in the war, raises a sudden torrent of questions that agitates her. Why is she even there, in the Imperial City? A city abandoned by its citizens, torn apart by violence, inhabited only by Daedra and soldiers who saturate its once-pristine grounds with blood and decay.

 _Pointless._ It is pointless. The Dominion has control of the city now, but their spies have reported activity in the sewers, as the other two alliances regroup and prepare to strike once more; to claim that which they desire, only to lose it again in a matter of days or weeks. It is a vicious cycle with no end in sight, and Sielaire is tiring, aching. Ready to set down this weight from her shoulders, if not for the one reason she is here in the first place.

Running a thumb over the single nick in the silver circlet, Sielaire's heart wavers dangerously like a flickering flame, when she thinks of her wife. It is for Ayrenn's sake that she is here, to turn the Queen's dream into reality with her own hands. But the desire to stay and fight disappears in this moment, and she wishes dearly for her wife's warmth on her skin, to be safe within the protected walls of the royal palace, instead of this… _damned_ pit of destruction and death. Danger lurks in every shadow here, and Sielaire can scarcely turn her back or close her eyes without feeling _vulnerable…_

Her eyes briefly fall shut, as memories of chains and sneers and agony flashes through her mind, and she forces herself to take deep, calming breaths, ignoring the prickle of magicka about her arms. Her fingers grip onto the circlet, and she clutches it to her chest protectively, drawing strength that she cannot find in smooth silver warmed by her own touch.

 _Ayrenn. Ayrenn._

As always, the mantra ghosts over her tongue, rising with the surge of intense fear, fighting the guttural sneer that haunts the back of her mind.

 _Ayrenn. Where are you? I need you. Please. Please…_

Sielaire gasps when she hears the sudden scrape on stone behind her. Adrenaline rushes into her veins as she turns around, hands glowing stark green, but pauses when her panicked gaze lands on the soldier walking up to her with both hands raised. Earilas meets her nervous gaze steadily, stopping for a moment to let Sielaire regain her wits. Instinct gives way to thought, and Sielaire forces herself to breathe easy, lowering her hands and dissipating the magicka with difficulty. She turns away from Earilas, and feels a spike of irritation when he sits beside her, but she bites down the rebuke that has risen to her lips.

"Just checking on you, ma'am," Earilas says. "You left camp without a word to anyone else, so…"

"I'm–" Sielaire's throat clogs before she can say _'fine'_ , and she falls into defeated silence, not bothering to finish her reply.

"It's alright. I imagine you've suffered much in Pact hands. It will take time to heal."

 _If it ever does_. Sielaire bites her lip, automatically reaching for the circlet again, its featherlight weight in her hands just enough to anchor her in the present.

"And if you need someone to talk to, I'll always be here. Provided I don't get killed, that is."

Sielaire sighs at his flippant remark, and looks her lieutenant over. Earilas has been fighting by her side ever since they stepped foot in Cyrodiil together, and he has not once lost his sense of humour in the long months since, even if it takes the occasional morbid turn. But for all his lighthearted mien, Earilas does look the part of a soldier trapped in war. His luscious silver-blonde locks have been shorn away, leaving bare the healing head wounds that had necessitated the haircut. Scars cut angry lines all over his skin, the most prominent one carving its way up the side of his neck. His face is gaunter, like Sielaire's, but she is glad he's still here to look so.

Earilas gives her a smile, then nods at the circlet. "That's the Queen's, isn't it?"

Sielaire hesitates for a moment, before admitting, "Yes."

"I knew it," Earilas huffs under his breath, leaning back on his hands. "Thought I'd seen it around somewhere. You two are…really close, huh?"

"You could say that," Sielaire whispers, thumb rubbing idly over the circlet. Earilas doesn't really have to ask – he knows full well that Sielaire had started sleeping in Ayrenn's chambers long ago. And though he knows of their affair, he has never asked the question outright.

"I know there are plenty of rumours and stuff, but…" Earilas leans in conspiratorially. "Just how close are you?"

Sielaire's lips part in a rare smile. She takes a breath, but stops before saying anything. Glancing at Earilas, she thinks it over, then pulls the glove from her hand, revealing the golden wedding band on her finger.

Earilas's eyes grow wide, then wider still. "I–, you're–, you're _not–_?"

Sielaire nods, thoroughly amused by his growing skepticism.

" _You're married to the Queen?_ " Earilas whispers, voice hushed, as if afraid to be overhead in the empty Tower. "She's your–? You're her–, _wife?_ "

She nods again.

"I–, since when!"

"Couple of months before we set sail to Cyrodiil," Sielaire says quietly. "We had a small ceremony…"

"And you didn't invite me!"

"I didn't want to implicate you in a…risky move."

"But after _all_ we've been through, Sielaire?" Earilas looks utterly heartbroken. "And you just…leave me out when you get married to the _Queen_ –?"

"You'll be there for the next one, okay?" Sielaire huffs, enjoying but quite done with his mock hurt. She looks down at the circlet again, and the faint smile falls from her lips. "If there will be one."

"Oh, you _bet_ your scarf there will be one," Earilas says, shuffling onto his knees. "Trust me." He knocks a fist against his chest. "I'll see you back home safe, even if it kills me."

"If it kills you? Then you won't be at the ceremony, will you?" Sielaire points out, and Earilas blinks.

"Oh, right."

"You're an idiot."

Earilas grins sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess I am."

* * *

Ayrenn shakes her head, poring over the numerous reports laid out on her desk. "Our hands are tied. We have the Imperial City for now, yes. But our forces have occupied it for nearly a month, while their numbers and supplies dwindle rapidly. If they stay in the city, they will be overwhelmed by the other alliances – it is inevitable. But if we pull out of the city, we will lose our ground completely. There's no telling when – or even _if_ – we can take it back."

"Then the choice is quite simple, yes?" Alwinarwe says, head cocked in thought. "Either way, our soldiers will lose the Imperial City. Better to do it on their own terms, than to be slaughtered while they are weak."

Ayrenn's mind goes blank as Alwin's words sink in, and she gives a tired smile. "How right you are, cousin. You know, you're pretty good at this. Are you sure you don't want to be involved with the military?"

"No," Alwin says simply. "I believe my…inexperience is what helps you here."

Ayrenn nods slowly. "A detached opinion does help. Not that it means you don't care," she adds quickly. "It just gives you a clearer head."

"Compared to you, I'll always have the clearer head." Alwin's lips curve in a near-imperceptible smile.

Ayrenn accepts the assessment with a laugh, knowing her cousin speaks the truth. She looks down at the reports, scattered over a small, annotated map of Cyrodiil. She reaches for the one she knows by heart, which details the return of the commanding battlereeve, who was thought to have been lost in a disastrous encounter with Daedra. Her fingers rest heavily on the parchment, eyes lingering on a single name.

Misgiving twists her heart. Sielaire's last projection had been months ago, and since then, Ayrenn has only communicated with the commanders leading the army in Sielaire's absence. Even after her return, Sielaire has yet to speak with Ayrenn directly – and after such a long time of silence, Ayrenn can only assume that it is Sielaire's choice. The thought troubles Ayrenn deeply, and she has spent countless nights wondering _why_ her wife would want to avoid her. Has something happened to Sielaire? Ayrenn knows she's been captured by the Pact. What if Sielaire…has done something she regrets–?

 _No._

Ayrenn shakes her head in self-reproach. Nothing will ever turn this battlereeve against the Dominion and its Queen – Ayrenn knows this more surely than she knows her own heart. Something must have happened to her. Something that holds her back from her own wife.

 _Damn it_. Ayrenn curses herself. She should've gone with Sielaire to Cyrodiil, instead of acting the part of a wise, cautious Queen.

"Have you heard from Sielaire?" Alwinarwe asks, and Ayrenn heaves a sigh.

"No. She hasn't spoken to me, nor has she sent a letter. Not even a note to tell me she's alive." Ayrenn's foot starts tapping at the floor in discomfort, and she straightens from the desk, wearing a frown. "I'm worried, Alwin. It's not like her to stay away when she can contact me."

"She might be busy."

"Yes, but it has never stopped her before." Ayrenn paces behind her desk, as she wrestles with the urge to fly off to Cyrodiil. "I have a feeling, Alwin. I don't think she is well. Gods, I'm so _worried_ about her, yet I'm stuck _here_ instead of–"

"Well then, remedy the situation," Alwinarwe cuts in gently, before Ayrenn can ramble. "Pull our soldiers out of the Imperial City. Allow them to regroup…or even come home, should they need it."

Ayrenn nods blankly at first, then with more purpose as she forms a plan to bring her wife home. "Yes. That is wise, Alwin. Expending ourselves in a futile endeavour is not worthy. We'll save our soldiers for future victories."

Alwin's gaze softens in understanding as she clasps Ayrenn's hand, and gives a comforting squeeze.

* * *

The Queen's order comes as a surprise, a lash of shame, and an immense relief all at once. They haven't expected to withdraw after their unprecedented feat of occupying the entire city, and aren't quite willing to, with all they'd sacrificed for it. But reality weighs upon them, day after day, and it is fact that they are slowly crumbling under the sheer pressure of keeping _themselves_ together. Their numbers grow ever thinner from battle against the alliances and Daedra, and with their supply caravans being constantly ambushed, they are running low on basic necessities and healing caches required to keep them alive.

To withdraw from the Imperial City, is to give up the very prize they have suffered _months_ for. In exchange, they are afforded a chance to save their lives. And while many are grateful for the Queen's mercy, their pride stings – retreat is perhaps the greatest show of weakness in their position, and it is a bitter pill to swallow.

Be that as it may, Sielaire passes the order down to her soldiers, who pack their camp with all haste, and remove every sign of living left by their troops – a precaution to avoid leaving any information for their foes to learn. And in the dark of night, the Dominion marches through the sewers that leads them to the countryside, from which they move south into Elsweyr. Back in Dominion territory, they find a Mages Guild hall easily, and travel to Senchal by way of portal, where they set sail back to the Summerset Isles.

Sielaire dreads her return home for the whole journey, piecing together an explanation for her inability to keep her troops in shape, and the Imperial City under control. The Queen slips into her nightmares where Daedra and Pact shackles already torment her, and Sielaire gradually loses her ability to sleep through the night, while on the voyage home.

When she finally sets foot in the royal palace, Sielaire is dismayed to learn that Ayrenn is holding court. Custom dictates that she reports immediately, and Sielaire paces by the throne room's doors, heart pounding in her ears as she waits for the herald to announce her presence to the Queen. He returns much too quickly, and asks her to wait for a moment – during which Sielaire hears footsteps streaming from the upper floors. When the noise dies down, he bows his head and pushes the doors open for her.

Sielaire squares her shoulders and walks in with all the dignity she can muster, even as her heart dies inside. She tries to meet Ayrenn's eyes, watching the slight smile fall from her wife's face, and she lowers her gaze to the floor. Both Ayrenn and Alwinarwe are waiting on the dais for her, and only a few Thalmor councilors are seated within the chamber – for which Sielaire is grateful. Ayrenn has had the presence of mind to dismiss her subjects before Sielaire exposes her shame.

Falling to one knee before her Queen, Battlereeve Sielaire bows her head low, and in a steady voice reports her return upon the Queen's order – which was necessitated by Sielaire's failure as a commander.

Her words echo through the closed chamber and back to her ears, almost in chastisement. Sielaire takes a breath at the end of her report, and says, "I will accept any punishment you deem fit, Your Majesty."

A heavy silence follows, but it isn't long before Ayrenn moves down from the dais, to stand before her. Sielaire steels herself as Ayrenn grasps her by the shoulders, and she doesn't dare resist when Ayrenn guides her to her feet. She keeps her eyes respectfully lowered, and hears Ayrenn speak.

"It was an impossible battle," the Queen says. Compassionate, calming. But Sielaire only wants to fold into herself. "You have fought four armies, mortal and Daedra alike. Yet you have kept your soldiers standing, and lived to fight another day. To serve the Dominion. That, in itself, is a victory, Battlereeve."

Sielaire's lips part slightly, but she is winded, and can find no words to speak against the Queen's declaration. So she stays her tongue, and salutes in a tired motion. Never making eye contact, Sielaire utters a brief _'thank you'_ when Ayrenn grants her troops a weeks' worth of rest, then bows low to the Queen. She walks out of the throne room when she is dismissed, weight lifting off her chest, leaving her alone with wounded pride, and the desire to curl up and hide in a dark corner.

* * *

Sielaire avoids her for the rest of the day, and Ayrenn gives her the space she needs. But when the second and third day passes, and Ayrenn hasn't gotten a single glimpse of her wife since the throne room, she decides to make the first move. With Razum-dar's help, Ayrenn tracks Sielaire down in one of the palace's many hallways, and yanks her wife through a hidden entrance into the secret passageways. Sielaire tries to dig her heels in, but when the Queen's grip on her wrist only tightens, she stops struggling and follows Ayrenn to the royal chambers in silence.

When the wall panel slides back into place, Ayrenn turns around to look at her wife – aching at the sight of her gaunt cheeks, the half-hollow stare at the floor, the new scars on her face. Sielaire doesn't move at the call of her name, but as Ayrenn starts probing for the source of her troubles, she backs away. Step after step, each meant to put more distance between her and Ayrenn, who follows with questions on her lips.

Weak protests and warnings are all Sielaire gives, before she seems to shut down, no longer hearing Ayrenn as she paces agitatedly around the room, frowning and squinting at the floor, hands reaching up to her head, sparking erratically with magicka. Ayrenn stops and curses herself when Sielaire hunches over, hands clutching tightly at the sides of her head, trembling breaths loud enough to hear.

"Sie," Ayrenn whispers, moving cautiously towards her wife. "I'm sorry. Sie, it's okay. It's–"

She grasps Sielaire's arm gently, but freezes when Sielaire seems to lock up at her touch. Ayrenn hesitates, and moves closer against her better sense, then stops again when Sielaire's head whips towards her.

"Sie?" Ayrenn asks, while the glare burns into her worried gaze. "I'm here. I can help. Just tell me what's bothering you."

She takes another step forward, and it sets Sielaire off. A primal flash of anger – and something _deeper_ – crosses Sielaire's eyes, and before Ayrenn can even take a breath, she feels a painful grip on her own arm. Surprise, then confusion overtakes her when she is shoved against the wall, back hitting cold marble, before lips crash into hers with no care or tenderness. Teeth clicking together in the rough kiss, Ayrenn feels a sting on her bottom lip as Sielaire slips into her mouth.

She grows pliant in Sielaire's hold, only regaining enough sense to sling her arms around her wife's neck, as Sielaire tugs her impossibly closer. Teeth pinch at Ayrenn's lips, and she takes a quiet gasp when her feet leave the ground, Sielaire hitching her up onto her hips. Ayrenn tries to kiss her again, but is tossed to the bed carelessly, immediately joined by Sielaire, who doesn't wait for her to recover. Lips and teeth burn over Ayrenn's body, nails digging and raking hard over her flesh, stoking a desire that soon overshadows her concern. Ayrenn loses herself and gives in, arching into Sielaire's mouth, and a reflexive whimper escapes her lips when Sielaire's teeth breaks skin on her chest.

Sielaire halts abruptly, and Ayrenn forces her eyes open to look at her wife, who is staring at the bite in mute horror. Ayrenn touches the wound, feeling drops of blood on her fingertips, and weaves a quick healing spell that knits the flesh together. She caresses Sielaire's cheek, and when her wife doesn't respond, she slowly guides Sielaire's head up to meet her eyes. Sielaire's gaze locks with hers, filled with dismay, rapidly growing blank – further away.

"Sie. Sie, stay with me," Ayrenn says before Sielaire can detach completely. "Sie, love. Look at me. _Me_."

Sielaire doesn't respond, so Ayrenn pulls her head down, bringing their lips together in a kiss that Sielaire barely reciprocates. She gives another soft kiss, then pushes Sielaire onto the bed – her wife oddly pliant to her urging. Ayrenn kisses her lips once more, then trails down her jaw, neck, and farther down her body, making sure to press against Sielaire's skin with enough force to anchor her wife in the present. She smiles faintly into Sielaire's chest when fingers reach into her blonde tresses, and her restraint eases under her wife's touch.

Ayrenn unties the drawstrings of Sielaire's top without looking, going through the familiar motions as she kisses along fair skin revealed to her. But when she takes the shirt and starts pulling it down, Sielaire's hand clamps around her wrist, stopping her. Ayrenn glances up at her pleading expression, and discerns the unspoken plea when she notices the angry red scar peeping out from beneath the fabric. Putting on a comforting smile, Ayrenn takes Sielaire's hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles, before proceeding to pull her wife's shirt down.

Sielaire grips onto her shoulder, as Ayrenn takes in the litany of scars – the most prominent of which spans across her abdomen, down to her hip. They are too wide to be inflicted by a whetted blade, too parallel to be different strokes. Claw marks, Ayrenn guesses, probably from a Daedric creature. She runs her fingertips up the ridged flesh, then notices Sielaire's chest jerking in irregular spasms. Ayrenn looks up, and finds Sielaire covering her eyes with a hand, hiding tears as she tries to swallow her sobs with gritted teeth. She fights against Ayrenn, who tries to pull her hand away, and Sielaire only relents after a few murmured coaxes.

"It's alright, Sie," Ayrenn whispers, her own throat tightening at Sielaire's silent crying. "You look just fine."

Sielaire starts shaking her head, and Ayrenn holds her in place with a soft kiss to her lips. She gives little pecks until Sielaire returns them – perhaps as a distraction, because her hand reaches for Ayrenn's in an effort to pull her away. But Ayrenn only clasps onto her, staying in place.

"Relax, dearest," Ayrenn murmurs against Sielaire's lips. She strokes damaged skin with her knuckles, before her fingers roam lower. "I'll take care of you."

Sielaire's face scrunches, but she doesn't tear her watery gaze from Ayrenn's. She yields under Ayrenn's kisses, answering each one with her own, and threads her fingers through blond hair. Ayrenn gladly deepens the kiss when Sielaire pulls her closer, and she gives her wife all the reassurance she needs, _everything_.

* * *

Ayrenn strides through the hallway briskly, too impatient to slow her pace for the servants hurrying behind her. Heart pounding in her chest, Ayrenn is focused on one thing only, and doesn't acknowledge a single soul who bows to her, as she sweeps through the hospital wing of the barracks. She enters the officer's ward without ceremony, and finds a team of two healers tending to their patient – an unconscious battlereeve who has been stripped of his armour, leaving bare the cracked and bleeding patches of charred skin. He is the victim of a devastating lightning spell – of that, Ayrenn has no doubt. She knows Sielaire's work all too well.

A captain waits at a respectful distance from the bed, and beside him is Sielaire, who salutes to Ayrenn along with her colleague – though she doesn't stop staring at the injured battlereeve.

"What happened?" Ayrenn demands, and the captain hastens to reply, for fear that the Queen's impatience will soon turn to anger.

"It was a routine field exercise, Your Majesty," he says, bowing his head. "We were practicing troop movement in an ambush, but when the trap was sprung…" He glances at Sielaire uncertainly, then gestures at the bed. "An accident occurred."

Ayrenn nearly snorts at his attempt to downplay the severity of the situation, and cover up any blame. Everyone present damn well knows what has happened – and that it's been _waiting_ to happen for a long while. Ayrenn looks to Sielaire, whose eyes are still fixed on the patient. She has tried to persuade the battlereeve to rest, to abstain from her duties until she has recovered. But Sielaire – even with shadows hanging persistently beneath her eyes, and a complexion that seems to grow paler with each passing day – insisted on working despite her exhaustion, her pain. And Ayrenn – fool that she was – had allowed Sielaire to do so, if it meant making her wife happy for a brief moment.

And now, it has come crashing down upon their heads.

Ayrenn takes a breath, and steels herself. "Battlereeve Sielaire."

Sielaire squares her shoulders instinctively, turning to face the Queen.

"You are hereby relieved of your duties, until a healer deems you fit to bear them once more."

Sielaire's eyes widen by a fraction, bearing a dangerous glint which is soon smothered by a heavy look of defeat. Her expression grows placid as the silence drags on, gaze dropping to the floor before she salutes, and marches out of the ward.

Ayrenn sighs to herself – Sielaire hadn't even glanced at her on the way out.

* * *

It is habit now, to check on Sielaire at regular intervals throughout the day, and offer simple touches or conversations to soothe her wife's nerves, which have frayed in her absence. Even in the night, Ayrenn watches over Sielaire – periodically stirring from her dreams to reach sleepily for her wife. And tonight, she finds an empty space beside her again. Ayrenn's eyes fall shut in exasperation, before worry pushes her to rise and shake off the heavy threads of sleep. Her feet meet the cold floor, but she doesn't bother with the slippers, walking out into the balcony barefooted.

As always, she finds Sielaire pacing under the night sky, nervous fingers wringing together while magicka crackles around her arms unpredictably. Green eyes turn to her for a second, before Sielaire averts her gaze to resume pacing, looking more frustrated when Ayrenn walks towards her.

"Nightmare?" Ayrenn asks, and Sielaire doesn't reply. She waits, then tries again. "What's wrong, love?"

Sielaire doesn't stop pacing, but she shakes her head, agitated.

"Sie, you'll have to talk to me eventually," Ayrenn says. "You can't keep going on like this. You're hurting yourself."

Another shake of the head, sharper this time.

"Talk to me, beloved. _Please_." Ayrenn tries to clasp her arm, but Sielaire pulls away. "I can help you. If you would just _tell_ me–, just stop for a moment–"

"I can't. _I can't!_ " Sielaire whirls on her suddenly, shout taking Ayrenn by surprise. "I can't stop, I can't tell, I _can't–_ "

Her voice breaks, and she clutches at her head briefly. "I can't stop. I can't control it. I can't control _myself_. I can't!"

"Sie." Ayrenn says, taking a step forward, which makes Sielaire back away. "You cannot force yourself to heal. And you _definitely_ can't force yourself to ignore what you've been through."

"You don't understand!" Sielaire pounds a fist against her chest. "I can't… I'm not _here_." She hits herself again, and again. "I am not _here_. All here. I shouldn't even be here!"

Ayrenn quickly reaches for Sielaire's fist, before she can beat herself again. "Sielaire, it's normal to feel…different. After–"

"No. I am not… _right_ ," Sielaire hisses, face scrunching up. "Not _whole_. I can't–" She breaks then, tears falling from her eyes as she squeezes the words through her throat. "I can't do this anymore."

Feeling weak herself, Ayrenn grasps Sielaire by the nape, and guides her close to rest their foreheads together. Sielaire sobs roughly, turning her head down as she grips onto Ayrenn's shirt.

"I can't take anymore…"

"Then share it with me," Ayrenn whispers, though she doubts Sielaire is listening, weeping as hard as she is. "I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

Sielaire doesn't react to her, even as Ayrenn guides her wife's head to rest on her shoulder. Fingers digging desperately into fine cotton, Sielaire leans heavily onto Ayrenn, who bears her weight with ease – though not so much in heart. Ayrenn aches deeply, rubbing and patting Sielaire's back as tears dampen her shoulder. She searches, but doesn't find the right words to say. How can she, when _she_ is the reason for her wife's suffering?

Ayrenn's lips part, tremble, then press back together in a thin line. She holds her wife firmly, sharing the strength Sielaire sorely needs, giving refuge to her lover who has broken in her arms.


	19. Healing - 2

Half-drawn curtains and strategically-placed candles provide gentle illumination, which creates a soothing, tranquil atmosphere in the room. Only two Altmer are present – one lies in a chaise, while the other is seated in a chair just an arm's length away. All is quiet, though the serene air is half-steeped in simmering tension as Sielaire stares up at the ceiling in exasperation and paranoia. Shadows cast over marble seem to move ever-so-slightly before her eyes, and Sielaire's heart beats faster against her better sense, when she spies the edges of a claw pushing out of the darkness…

"And how do you feel about–?"

The calm voice snaps the final thread of patience in her, and she lashes out, "Gods, I am so _sick_ of hearing that question!"

Regret washes over Sielaire as her voice fades, and she screws her eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in her throat as she sits up in the chaise. Covering her face with a hand, Sielaire takes controlled breaths to smooth over the hitches, and whispers, "I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright, Sielaire," Niralyne assures her. "It is normal to feel agitated in your situation. Would you like to lie down before we continue?"

"There's no use," Sielaire growls, though the threat in her voice diminishes as she curls up on the chaise subconsciously, hugging an arm around her knees. Her mind detaches when Niralyne explains the slow process of healing, and Sielaire clutches at her head, wallowing in a dark haze before she forcibly pulls herself back to the present. She discovers she has missed the bulk of Niralyne's explanation, but it is one she's heard many times before; so she keeps quiet, and allows Niralyne to continue.

"No one can stay strong every day of their lives, Sielaire. No one has to – not even you. And yes, I understand," she adds when Sielaire looks on the verge of a protest. "It is in your nature, and it is essential for your career. But you are in no position to put up such appearances now – not where you are standing. And this is nothing to be ashamed of…"

Niralyne's voice trails off when Sielaire rises from the chaise, shaking her head blankly as she struggles to breathe through a constricted throat. She falls into habitual pacing in the healer's office, tracing that same circuit as she wrings her hands tightly. She has arrived at the edge again – where any argument she makes will crumble and expose her weakness, and she recoils in fear at the prospect. It's a losing battle, but as always, Niralyne offers her an escape before she works herself into a nervous breakdown, as in their first session.

"Why don't we end here for today?" Niralyne suggests, already knowing Sielaire's answer – which comes in a nod. She gives Sielaire some time to recollect herself, then asks, "Have you considered what we discussed in the last session?"

Sielaire's pacing stops abruptly, as her breath catches. "I cannot," she utters.

"Sielaire, I know it is difficult for you to open up. To appear weak, and in need of help. But denying the state you are in, trying to _hide_ it, will only hurt you even more." Niralyne pauses to let her words sink in, and the only acknowledgement Sielaire gives, is a frustrated shake of the head as she resumes pacing. "This is the most important step you need to take – to share what has happened to you in the war. You will only continue to shame yourself if you try to rationalise it on your own."

"I deserve it."

"No, I am confident that you don't. And I believe you can see my point now," Niralyne continues. "You need someone whom you trust, whose words you will believe. So that someone else will understand your pain, even if you won't reveal to me what exactly had happened to you."

"I cannot…lay my own burden on someone else," Sielaire says, quiet and uncertain.

"You have to, Sielaire. Or you will break under its weight…even more than you already have."

A sober reminder, and Sielaire takes a slow breath to steady herself. She has already hurt a colleague in her obstinacy. And she has woken many times in bed, arms alight with crackling magicka, dream-addled mind consumed with the intent to _kill_. How long will it take before she hurts her beloved as well?

Sielaire's heart wavers, and her pacing slows to a stop. She wrings her fingers for a moment, then nods. "I'll…try."

"That is all I ask," Niralyne replies with a smile. She stands and walks to Sielaire, clasping her patient's hands in farewell.

Sielaire glances at the healer as their hands part, but can't find it in herself to return Niralyne's smile. With a bow of the head, she excuses herself from the healer's office, walking through the barracks with her head shrouded in fog. She moves on instinct – heading to the palace with a vague idea of knocking on the door to Ayrenn's office, but decides against it. Instead, she makes a turn towards the Queen's bedchamber, thinking to grab some shut-eye before mustering her courage to ask Ayrenn…

But it seems she won't have the luxury of time, when she walks into the room and finds Ayrenn sitting at the reading desk, looking up at her entrance. Sielaire's gut twists when a loving smile curves Ayrenn's lips, but she holds her ground and returns her wife's embrace. Sielaire buries her face in Ayrenn's neck, taking a deep breath to calm herself, before lifting her head to receive a peck on the lips.

"How was it?" Ayrenn asks.

"It was…" Sielaire's voice dies, unable to bring herself to describe her own dismal performance. Her gaze drops to the floor, heart beating fast as she steels herself. "Renn?"

"Yes?"

"I…need a favour," she says slowly.

"Of course, dearest," Ayrenn replies without hesitation, cupping her cheek. "Anything for you."

* * *

When Sielaire returns to Niralyne's office with the Queen in her company, the healer is taken aback – Sielaire has sent word about her partner, but failed to mention who it is. Niralyne stares at Ayrenn in mute surprise, before regaining her senses and sweeping into a bow.

"Your Majesty. I wasn't aware that you would be coming…"

"Well, now you are," Ayrenn replies, an easy smile on her lips. "And I trust you will be discrete about this?"

"Yes, of course." Niralyne bows again, then gestures for them to follow. She leads them to the back of the office, where two cushioned cots are pushed together. She pauses and turns back to them sheepishly, glancing at Ayrenn. "I do apologise, Your Majesty. Had I known, I would've prepared something more…"

"It's alright," Ayrenn laughs when Niralyne waves at the cots. "These will work just fine."

Niralyne gives a graceful smile amid her abashment, and bids them sit down as she explains the process once more. This is a very intimate experience that Ayrenn and Sielaire will share – with Niralyne's aid, Sielaire will be guided into an induced sleep, followed by Ayrenn, who will join Sielaire as she relives the memory of her trauma in a dream. Nothing will be hidden from Ayrenn; everything Sielaire had seen, every emotion she had felt, will be shared with Ayrenn as well, if not in the same magnitude. It is a complete baring of the soul, and that is why Sielaire's consent is of the utmost importance before they begin.

Ayrenn looks to Sielaire, who has gone paler during Niralyne's explanation. She cups her wife's cheek gently, the unspoken question answered with a nod and a nervous smile. Sielaire lies down in her cot first, hand seeking and clasping Ayrenn's tightly – betraying the slight trembles of fear. Ayrenn places a kiss on Sielaire's knuckles, then lies down in her own cot, leaving her hand in Sielaire's as Niralyne rests her fingertips on each of their foreheads.

Ayrenn clears her mind, and braces herself when Niralyne weaves the spell, whispering an incantation as a soothing sensation flows into her head, lulling her into a sleepy haze. Sielaire's fingers relax between hers, and Ayrenn is quick to follow her into the dreamscape.

* * *

Chaos rages around Ayrenn the instant she opens her eyes, and recognises Imperial architecture – which is crumbling around her. Ayrenn darts to the side to avoid a large chunk of falling stone, but pauses when the subsequent shower of dust and rubble passes right through her. She reaches experimentally for the stone, and her hand slips through the solid material as if it were air.

 _Useful_ , Ayrenn muses, glad that she is immune to the dream's happenings.

A figure sprints past her then, and Ayrenn turns her gaze to find Sielaire weaving through piles of broken stone, trying to find a way out. She becomes aware of a slight throbbing in her chest – a second heartbeat beside her own, pumping the ghost of adrenaline through her veins.

 _Sielaire_. She remembers Niralyne's words, and realises it is Sielaire's urgency that she is feeling. Her own heart beats in time with Sielaire's, as she watches the battlereeve conjure barrier after barrier, deflecting heavy stone that would've crushed her under its weight. But Ayrenn can tell she's tiring, and soon Sielaire conjures a barrier too weak to withstand a particularly large stone slab. The faint green barrier shatters under the impact, and the falling stone hits the side of Sielaire's head, sending her to the ground, unconscious. Ayrenn steps forward as the world around her dims, and she watches helplessly as Sielaire is buried under a mountain of rubble.

Darkness fills her vision, then vanishes with disorienting speed. Ayrenn feels belatedly the resonance of Sielaire's shock, from being splashed with a bowlful of water. The battlereeve is now held in a cell, with shackles on her wrists and neck that chain her to the wall, arms suspended to prevent movement. Sielaire shakes her drenched head, while a Pact spy paces before her, uttering a spiel about Sielaire cooperating, giving information that shall secure her freedom…and spare her from unnecessary pain.

Sielaire doesn't react, merely fixing her eyes on the cell door behind the spy, ignoring demands to reveal the Queen's plans, and information on the Dominion's invading army. When it is apparent that simple interrogation won't yield results, the spy turns to uglier methods – both physical and magical. Sielaire endures numerous blows from the spy's fists, and grits her teeth under the lash of whips – _slave_ whips, Ayrenn recognises, as are the shackles on Sielaire's neck and wrists.

Her blood quickens with anger, but she is distracted by a faint tug on her soul. A second presence that Ayrenn recognises as Sielaire's, though it carries a consciousness that the mere memory of her lacks. It wraps around Ayrenn's being, warm yet cold from fear, trembling with uncertainty – Sielaire is trying to pull her away, stop her from watching. Ayrenn can feel the tinge of shame, and her heart squeezes as she reaches out to Sielaire, steadying her.

She can feel Sielaire's hesitation, before the tug on her relaxes, replaced by warm wisps curling about her body – Sielaire clinging onto her. Ayrenn looks back at the memory, which has changed in their quiet moment together. The spy is injecting a sickly-green liquid into Sielaire's arm, and the battlereeve starts writhing in place, biting on her lip to stifle any sound that betrays the agony coursing through her veins. She endures this insidious torture for hours, never once swayed to reveal Dominion secrets, and the spy seems to give up – though the cold, still-satisfied glint in his eyes sparks Ayrenn's misgiving.

 _'Tell the mages they can have this one,'_ the spy tells his lackey, and the memory turns to black.

When the light returns, Sielaire is bound to a wooden platform, where she kneels with her head bowed, eyes closed. Ayrenn feels a ripple of anger from present-Sielaire when cloaked mages enter the dark chamber, their Nord leader's hands coming alive with a vicious red glow that appears on Sielaire's chains. Her arms are drawn apart, and she is pulled to her feet – though not fully, so she is forced to bend awkwardly at the knees. Dread from Sielaire fills Ayrenn's chest as the mages take position around her, hands glowing an identical shade of red. Ayrenn's vision turns black amid Sielaire's ragged cry, and a chill stabs her heart as cold wisps tighten around her body.

Ayrenn 'holds' onto Sielaire as best she can, soothing her wife's quivering soul as another memory unfolds. A slap on the cheek, and the chamber comes into focus – Sielaire is still kneeling on the platform, now with her head gripped roughly in a Nord commander's thick hand. A Dunmer general stands beside him, watching with disdain as the Nord brings a hewn bowl of water to Sielaire's cracked lips. Ayrenn feels the battlereeve's indignation at the necessity of being fed, but it's soon overshadowed by an instinct for survival, that forces her to gulp down as much water as she can.

Water spills down her chin, but she catches enough to sate her thirst, before the bowl is pulled away. When the Nord steps aside, the Dunmer takes his place, lips curving in a sneer as he brings the back of his hand across Sielaire's cheek, gauntleted knuckles slicing into her dirtied skin.

 _'Not so high and mighty now, are you,'_ he snarls, bending down to Sielaire – whose eyes are blank. _'Don't worry. I'm sure I can find a place in my estate for a prized slave.'_

The past-battlereeve's shame washes over Ayrenn, mixed with an acute fear, and the Dunmer raises his hand for another blow – only to be stopped by a grip on his arm. He glares at the Nord warrior, who stares back at him with simple resolution.

 _'Show respect,'_ he rumbles, and the Dunmer yanks his arm away, spitting on the ground before stalking out of the chamber.

The Nord lingers, eyes resting quietly on Sielaire, before he turns around and makes a discrete exit. But Ayrenn pays him no mind, suppressing her growing anger to focus on Sielaire, who remains kneeling with her head bowed. Ayrenn worries – Sielaire's past-emotions has become…duller to her senses, drawing close to a dangerous blank. The battlereeve was detaching herself, and Ayrenn hates her inability to help–

She's taken aback when the cold presence about her grows warmer, in urgent reassurance. Ayrenn's heart aches at Sielaire's need to care for _her_ , even in such vulnerability, and her throat tightens as the memory changes again.

They are on the outskirts of the Imperial City, and the wooden platform is being rolled into position. When it comes to a stop, the lead mage smirks and yanks the heavy chain in his hand – which is connected to Sielaire's neck collar, causing her head to snap back with a strangled gasp. Fear in Ayrenn swells in tandem with present-Sielaire's dread, as the battlereeve is pulled to her feet once more, her head falling back to give her a clear view of the dark clouds swirling above.

Ayrenn can almost feel the rapid _, desperate_ beats of Sielaire's heart, and tears well in her eyes when she hears an echo of her name in Sielaire's clouded mind. Wisps tighten around her body once more, and Ayrenn braces herself as a single bolt of lightning falls from the sky. Its lethal energy strikes Sielaire at her very core, and the agony is amplified tenfold as her own magicka is expelled from her body in a deadly lightning storm, ripping through the battlefield of soldiers and crushing the stone of the Imperial City's walls. Sielaire's scream echoes in Ayrenn's ears, and the concentrated nexus of energy within her erupts, the world exploding in a burst of white.

* * *

Ayrenn jerks awake with a gasp, and she falls back onto the cot, panting heavily as she tries to catch her breath, shivering from the sensation of having her body torn apart from within. She clutches at her chest, piecing her senses back together, and she wonders how Sielaire–

 _Sielaire_.

She whips her head to Sielaire – who has woken with a ragged scream, and is currently huddled on her own cot, shaking visibly as Niralyne steadies her with both hands on her shoulders. Ayrenn pushes herself up and moves to Sielaire's cot, grasping at her arms, then cups her face in both hands.

"Sie," Ayrenn says clearly, to cut through the chaos in Sielaire's mind. "Sielaire, love. We're back. Look at me."

Sielaire chokes on her heavy breaths, but looks up with Ayrenn's guidance, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. "I–, I'm sorry," she breathes, and Ayrenn shakes her head in disbelief.

"Just _what_ are you sorry for?" Ayrenn wipes the tears with her thumb, pulling Sielaire closer. "Sie, what you've gone through – _no one_ could've survived unscathed. You have nothing to apologise for, Sielaire. _Nothing_ to be ashamed of."

Sielaire breaks, shaking her head as she weeps freely. Ayrenn guides Sielaire's head to rest on her shoulder, and holds her wife tight as Sielaire finds release in tears, clutching onto Ayrenn in the wake of bitter memory.

* * *

Sielaire takes a long while to recover from their shared experience, passing numerous days without much activity, other than cleaning and feeding herself, before lying back in their bed. Ayrenn spends more time with her, concerned about Sielaire's lack of will to engage in anything, but finds little assurances in her wife's steady – if dull – gazes when they are together. She takes the initiative, coaxing Sielaire out for short walks in the garden, or to lounge by the fire as she recounts her day over cups of hot tea. Ayrenn accompanies Sielaire to her sessions with the healer, and though progress is slow at first, Sielaire starts responding to Ayrenn more, little by little.

Her faint smile at Ayrenn's joke is perhaps the first sign of healing, and Ayrenn takes heart – though she takes care to guide Sielaire slowly through the process. Sielaire gravitates back to her, and becomes quite like an attention-starved kitten, often finding a place next to Ayrenn, leaning into her with both arms wrapped around her waist. Ayrenn relishes the renewed connection between them, and is more than happy to have an arm around her wife while reading reports, or settling into bed for the night. Sielaire still sheds a few tears over the weeks, though she doesn't try to hide them from Ayrenn anymore, curling up against her wife while Ayrenn sings and rocks her gently in comfort.

Humming the last notes to a lullaby, Ayrenn grazes her fingertips through Sielaire's tresses and glances down at her wife, who has fallen asleep nestled up to her. She smiles and presses her lips to the top of Sielaire's head, then leans back into the pillows they are propped up against, breathing a sigh of relief. Sielaire has woken in the early morning, shaken from a nightmare and rising from bed to pace about the floor. Ayrenn wakes just in time to pull her away from the couch – where Sielaire has taken to sleeping so she won't disturb her partner. After a brief argument, Ayrenn manages to lure Sielaire back to the bed, where she settles into Ayrenn's arms, and is thankfully able to find rest again.

Ayrenn's heart aches at the thought of her wife – an indomitable soldier, whittled down to such a state for her sake. She still regrets giving the order which had sent Sielaire to Cyrodiil, believing it's a mistake – albeit a necessary one. But Ayrenn knows Sielaire will protest the very notion she harbours, and it only makes her ache even more, from being loved so. To be loved beyond reason.

With the both of them at an impasse, refusing to allow each other to bear the blame for the past, Ayrenn can only turn her eyes to the future, and prevent history from repeating itself. It is a certainty that the Dominion will return to Cyrodiil in the future. And when Sielaire sets foot in the mainland once more, it shall be at the Queen's side.

* * *

Ayrenn yawns as she enters the bedroom, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tense muscles after a long and stressful day. She takes the crown in one hand and tosses it carelessly onto her study desk, looking around the room to find it empty. Brows furrowing slightly, Ayrenn walks into the bathroom for a look, then makes for the terrace behind her bedchambers – where she's relieved to find Sielaire sitting on the floor, beside the coffee table.

She joins her wife outside, kneeling down to kiss Sielaire atop the head, before sitting on the floor beside her. Sielaire is dressed comfortably in tunic and pants, her hair flowing freely in the gentle breeze. Her mellow expression softens, and she gives Ayrenn a smile, looking away from the little project she is working on. It's a hobby she's taken up to occupy her time, while she is still barred from work; it comprises a set of silver-painted magnetic sticks as thin as, but shorter than a regular matchstick. They snap easily into place wherever one sets them, and it makes sculpting a fun activity with no fear of damaging one's creation – not when simple recreation is the core purpose of this toy kit.

"Hm." Ayrenn regards the bare-bones structure Sielaire has erected on the wooden base. "Looks like the palace."

"It is the palace," Sielaire replies, pointing at the sculpture. "These are the towers…and these are the hallways. I'll work on them later. Here's our room." She points at the only room that is defined with support beams.

Ayrenn smiles, leaning against the table as Sielaire snaps a few more sticks into place, completing the bedroom's ceiling. As she pieces together one of the palace's numerous wings, Ayrenn says, "This seems to be helping."

Sielaire shrugs. "It's enjoyable. If…only a distraction."

Touching her arm, Ayrenn asks, "How did it go?"

A long moment of silence, as Sielaire's gaze drops from the sculpture, turning dark. Even though she has made significant progress in healing her soul, Sielaire still faces another problem – her magicka. Since her time in Cyrodiil, Sielaire has found it increasingly difficult to channel magicka as she once did. In the few demonstrations she has given Ayrenn, she's had to focus greatly on establishing a connection, and the result is always a violent discharge of destructive magicka – usually in the form of lightning.

It's a severe ailment for one who used to wield magicka as easily as she breathes, thus Ayrenn sought the service of a Sapiarch from the Crystal Tower, who has traveled to the palace to investigate the source of Sielaire's trouble.

"He says there are two possible causes," Sielaire recounts flatly. "The first is purely psychological – after what I've been through in Cyrodiil, being used as a conduit – I may have developed an aversion to channeling magicka as before, or feel a compulsion to use only destructive magics to protect myself."

Ayrenn nods. "And the second?"

Sielaire stares, then averts her eyes, taking a deep breath. "The second is physiological. Being used as a conduit to channel such raw power, it might have…damaged me." Her voice has fallen into a hushed whisper. "So that I cannot feel the flow of magicka unless it is highly concentrated. He's not sure if this is permanent, but suggested that I continue with my therapy, and keep an eye on myself."

"That's…helpful," Ayrenn says with a lilt in her voice, hiding her dismay at Sielaire's diagnosis – and the lack of a solution. She forces a smile when Sielaire takes her hand gently.

"Renn, if I never heal… Please, just listen," Sielaire cuts in before Ayrenn can voice her protest. "Even if I never heal, I still have my blade, and I will serve you until my dying breath. If you will have me."

Ayrenn's heart clenches at her wife's weak, gentle smile. "Sie, _of course_ I'll have you," she says, clutching Sielaire's hand to her chest. "How can you ever think otherwise? I would never dream of moving on without you."

Sielaire's face scrunches up briefly, and she blinks the tears from her eyes. She smiles when Ayrenn gives her kiss, and she leans into her wife gratefully, answering with a deeper one of her own. Ayrenn's breath is stolen with the simple exchange, and she parts from Sielaire to compose herself. She gazes up into verdant eyes, feeling that singular beat of her heart, inspired by the love in Sielaire's tender gaze.

 _What have I ever done to deserve you?_


	20. Aldmeri - 7

It's been three hours since the sun has set, and though the night is still young for most mer, it certainly is not for one particular little girl still bouncing around happily in the Palace of Alinor. Just a few months ago, Astaire would've been in bed by this time; if not already asleep, then being tucked in by her mothers. But two-year-old seems to be gathering quite a reservoir of energy as she grows – along with a streak of innocent rebellion that has her fighting against her established bedtime.

Too often has she jumped out of bed after being tucked in, and toddled into her parents' bedroom with a stuffed toy in hand and a bright grin on her lips. And after pouting enough times when she was shooed back to bed, she is finally given free rein to decide her sleep schedule – albeit with guidance from her parents. One of whom is quite comfortable being strict with the little one, despite the pouts and whines. The other, though...not so much.

Sielaire lies on the padded floor of the playroom, propped up on her side against a pile of cushions, as she watches Astaire toddle about the mats with toys in her hands, gazing up at the glittery crystals of the chandelier above. It's a new installation that has captured the girl's wonder immediately, and she will often be distracted by the shimmering lights above her – not necessarily a bad thing, but it has caused her to trip and fall over her own feet on a couple of occasions.

"Astaire," Sielaire sings softly, and her voice catches Astaire's attention, the girl whirling around to look at her. Sielaire's heart stops for a moment when Astaire wobbles unsteadily from the sudden motion, but relaxes when she finds her balance again. "Watch where you're going, little Star."

Astaire may not fully understand what she's saying, but flashes a smile nevertheless. "Mama," she replies, before her gaze drops to the toys in her hands, and she plops herself onto the mat, playing pretend with the stuffed dog.

Sielaire smiles as Astaire holds the dog and gryphon aloft, one chasing after the other. With the child settled, Sielaire lowers her eyes to the one lying next to her, fast asleep. Ayrenn doesn't even stir at Astaire's occasional giggle and squeal, so exhausted is she from tending to matters of state. Despite Sielaire's chides, Ayrenn has caught little to no sleep at all for the past few days, and only allowed herself to crash onto her daughter's play mats, after everything has been settled.

Sighing softly, Sielaire combs her fingertips through Ayrenn's tresses, stroking her gently as she slumbers. She notes the lines of exhaustion under Ayrenn's eyes, and chapped lips from lack of water – Ayrenn has developed a habit of not touching any liquids when she is busy. On a few occasions, Sielaire had placed a cup of tea on her wife's desk in the morning, only to return near midnight to find the cup still full, sitting forgotten on the very same spot. Ayrenn would gulp it down upon noticing Sielaire's reproachful stare, but has obviously not taken this lesson to heart just yet.

Ghosting a thumb over Ayrenn's dry lips, Sielaire bends down to press a kiss to her wife's temple. At least Ayrenn has time to relax now, even if she is just catching up on sleep in the precious few hours she has dedicated to her family.

Sielaire nearly snickers at Ayrenn's sleepy snort, then reaches around to rub that spot below her nape, soothing her in slumber. Kneading Ayrenn's back gently, Sielaire looks up to find Astaire back on her feet, now bouncing and toddling about in a haphazard dance, with a blue rubber ball in her hands. Sielaire chuckles, while Astaire bounces the ball on the floor, somehow managing to catch it each time despite her slight lack of coordination.

Astaire is pretty engrossed in her new activity, trying to bounce the ball higher with each throw, and soon the ball springs back from the floor much too quickly for her to catch. She gapes after it in surprise, then her feet start to move forward, chasing after the ball that is bouncing out of her reach. Astaire breaks into a run, and before Sielaire can voice a warning, the child trips on her feet and lands face-down on the mats.

Sielaire jerks up from the cushions, barely noticing that she has jostled Ayrenn as she moves towards Astaire. But she lacks the urgency she would've carried months ago, when Astaire was still getting accustomed to walking. The girl has taken enough tumbles to know that she will be okay, and she doesn't break into loud wails as she had done before. Instead, Astaire lies still on the mats, and only starts to move at Sielaire's urging. Her mother clasps onto her shoulders, and smiles when Astaire whines in reply, as if reluctant to stand up on her own.

"Come, Star. Let's stand...up!" Sielaire grasps Astaire firmly under her arms, then lifts her up with enough speed to elicit an excited giggle and squeal. Setting the girl on her feet, Sielarie tweaks her nose. "See? It's so easy."

"Easy," Astaire repeats, raising her arms. "Mama, is easy."

A lazy chuckle behind Sielaire. "She's got that right."

Sielaire whips her head around and narrows her eyes at Ayrenn, who is still lying on the floor. Her wife's smile grows into a lewd smirk, and she beckons Sielaire over with a finger.

"Not with Star around," Sielaire huffs in amusement. She tries to carry Astaire in her arms, but the girl wriggles and kicks her legs, breaking free from Sielaire. "Star, darling. It's past your bedtime."

"Bedtime!" Astaire sings, kneeling down to collect her gryphon toy.

As the child moves around the mats to collect her toys, Sielaire shuffles back to Ayrenn, gladly falling into her wife's open arms. She plants kisses over Ayrenn's jaw, then catches her wife's lips in a kiss, smiling as Ayrenn pulls her deeper, slipping in for a taste. Sielaire parts from her with a hint of reluctance, though her heart skips at the sparkle in Ayrenn's eyes.

"Carry me to bed, Sie," Ayrenn whispers. "And I'll show you what I dreamt of."

Sielaire laughs under her breath. "Did you really?"

"Well, no," Ayrenn drawls, slinging both arms around Sielaire's neck. "I slept pretty heavily. But – I could show you what I dreamt of...before I fell asleep."

Her ears twitching under Ayrenn's caress, Sielaire's smile takes on a wicked curve, and she leans down to kiss Ayrenn once more. Soft and teasing, her heart beating quicker.

"Can't wait."

"See? Star's right – you _are_ easy."

Sielaire rolls her eyes, untangling herself from Ayrenn with a scoff. She slaps at the hand reaching for her, and turns her gaze to find Astaire waiting with three stuffed toys in her arms.

"Ready for bedtime, Astaire?" Sielaire asks.

Astaire bounces on her feet, eager to go. "Yeah!"

* * *

The sun is mellow today – something Ayrenn is grateful for. Not that the sun ever bothers her much, and she welcomes hot sunshine on her skin, especially after being cooped up in the palace for much too long. But she doesn't assume the same of Astaire, whom she _is_ still very protective of, no matter how much Sielaire tries to show her up in that area…without even trying.

Though Ayrenn is dressed casually in shirt and pants made of the lightest cotton, with her arms exposed to the elements, she has dressed Astaire more carefully, taking care to protect the child's tender skin from any chance of sunburn. If she feels warm, Astaire doesn't give any indication of it – her bright gaze is busy roving from face to face, building to building, in an attempt to take in Alinor all at once.

Ayrenn and Sielaire have ventured out into the city together many times before, under a magical guise provided by the set of earrings they share, which alters their appearance to hide their true identity. It has worked well thus far, granting them many opportunities for quiet dates away from the palace, and Ayrenn has decided to bring Astaire out in the same manner. The girl wears a silver anklet which masks her hair beneath that same black shade as her mother's, though Ayrenn has taken the liberty of changing Astaire's eyes to a green that matches Sielaire's.

A little fantasy, as it is, and it makes Ayrenn ache sweetly from time to time.

Astaire turns her head back to Ayrenn, and peers at her mother from under the brim of her small sunhat. Ayrenn smiles, pecking her on the cheek.

"Yes, little Star?"

"Mommy," Astaire says, clutching at Ayrenn's shoulders. "I wanna walk."

"Oh? Promise to walk slowly first."

"Yeah."

"And hold mommy's hand always."

"Okay."

"Good girl." Ayrenn plops Astaire carefully on the floor, then offers her hand, which the girl holds onto. Due to her height, Ayrenn has to walk with her shoulders a little slouched, though that isn't much of a problem as she finds herself kneeling down often, explaining to the girl all the new things she's seeing for the first time. Random stuff, like the fountain in the square, birds chirping in sing-song notes, the trinkets in shop displays that Ayrenn has to restrain Astaire from grabbing. The only thing Ayrenn doesn't explain, is the glass of 'apple juice' Astaire noticed a Nord drinking in an open-air tavern, and she has to steer the girl away with a promise of actual juice, so Astaire will stop pouting.

She finds a garden beside the less-crowded corner of the market, and buys a cup of apple juice from a vendor, handing it to Astaire who sips it happily, swinging her legs on the bench. Ayrenn treats herself to a goblet of wine – the type of tavern wine that will be tossed from the palace in disdain – and sits on the bench with Astaire, looking over the few people strolling through the garden. Ayrenn leans back in the bench, and doesn't stop Astaire when she sets her half-finished cup of juice aside and walks off to explore her surroundings.

Ayrenn's attention wanders for a fleeting moment, and when she turns back to Astaire, she nearly chokes on her wine – the girl has grasped onto a Khajiit's tail, and strokes it gently. Ayrenn gives silent thanks that she doesn't tug on it – knowledge gained from ample experience with Sielaire's cats – and the Khajiit woman turns around, looking half-amused and perplexed at the child's behaviour. Ayrenn catches the woman's attention and raises a hand in apology, getting a laugh from the Khajiit, and a casual wave in reply.

The Khajiit slips her tail deftly from Astaire's hand, who stares up at her smile for a moment, before the girl is distracted by a much younger Khajiit sitting on the floor. He's about the same size as Astaire, probably the same age too, and is busy licking at the grey-black fur on his arm – until he's distracted by the Altmer girl. He watches with wide eyes as Astaire reaches out to him, and doesn't move when she rests a hand on his head, petting him as if he were one of her cats.

He doesn't protest, and when Astaire sits beside him, he reaches out to pet her hair as well, ruffling her neatly-combed blonde tresses. She giggles, then starts talking to him, causing his head to cock to the side, ears pricked. Ayrenn can't hear what she's saying, only the lilt of Astaire's babbles, then the rougher reply of the Khajiit boy. It seems they have a little trouble understanding each other, given the pauses after each child speaks, but it doesn't deter them from having a long, animated conversation filled with excited hand-waving and tail-flicking.

Then Astaire stands, and walks back to the bench where Ayrenn sits, taking the cup of juice she'd left behind. She carries it to the Khajiit and offers it to him, and he takes it with both hands. He licks at the beverage experimentally, then brings it to his lips, drinking the juice in earnest. Ayrenn can't help but smile when they start passing the cup back and forth, reminded of the times she'd spent traveling with Razum-dar before returning to Summerset, often sharing a bottle of ale or rations on the road.

Ayrenn sighs, missing her dear friend, and watches wistfully as the kids continue chatting. They're quite curious about each other, feeling hair and fur with their fingertips, and comparing the size of their ears. Astaire watches with wide eyes when her friend raises his claws for her to see, and she grabs onto his paw, feeling experimentally at its edges. They really are just fingernails, but longer and sharper, and Ayrenn bites down a warning for Astaire to be careful.

They pass a half hour together, before the boy's mother – the Khajiit woman whose tail Astaire had touched earlier – comes to pick him up. The boy takes his mother's hand, and waves at Astaire in farewell, while the girl does the same and stares after them as they leave. When they've blended into the market's crowd, Astaire returns to Ayrenn, who notices that little pout on her lips.

Picking the girl up, Ayrenn sets Astaire in her lap. "Don't be sad, Star. Maybe you'll meet again, someday."

Astaire doesn't reply, merely turning her head to look at the market again.

"Here, sweetheart. Let's go back to the palace, hm?" Ayrenn gathers the child in her arms, and stands. "We'd better go see your mama before she turns the whole place upside down looking for us."

"Mama's busy," Astaire parrots the excuse Ayrenn had given her, when she asked why Sielaire wasn't accompanying them into the city.

"Oh, she is," Ayrenn replies playfully, though her voice quiets so Astaire can't hear her. "But now, I think she's pissed."

* * *

Sielaire _was_ rather ticked at Ayrenn – mostly because she'd decided to take Astaire out on her own, without informing Sielaire first. She would've agreed to go along, Sielaire explained, and she'd be spared from a bout of panic as she searched about the palace for her own family. Sielaire gave in after many croons and promises from Ayrenn – like she always does – and she took to pampering and hovering over Astaire for the next few days, before leaving on a trip to Lillandril for a celebration in the city.

Astaire has always been attached to her mothers, but as she grows and understands more around her, Ayrenn and Sielaire's frequent absences from the palace has started to affect her more as well. And that's why she is clutching onto Sielaire, as her mother carries her to the courtyard, where the carriage and entourage are waiting to receive her.

Ayrenn walks beside Sielaire, smiling at the petulant pout on her daughter's lips, which grows more severe when Sielaire guides her to sit upright.

"Here we are, little Star. Mama has to go now."

"Mama, don't go," Astaire says, with such an air of finality it's almost a command. Sielaire blames her royal mother for this, but Ayrenn only smiles that crooked curve at the thought.

"Mama has to go, darling," Sielaire croons, bouncing the girl in her arms. "There's an important event that needs me there."

Astaire gives a loud whine, and can barely lock her arms around Sielaire's neck, before her mother hands her over to Ayrenn. Sielaire pecks Astaire on the forehead, then kisses her wife in farewell.

"Safe journey, dearest," Ayrenn says, catching Astaire's hand, and rubbing a thumb soothingly over the girl's fingers. "We'll be waiting for lots of presents when you come back."

"Of course you will," Sielaire laughs. She smooths a hand over Astaire's blonde locks, then turns away to finally board the carriage. But when she has climbed the first step, Sielaire stops and turns around, distracted by a familiar sob.

Ayrenn wipes at Astaire's eyes, cooing reassurances through the girl's tears, though she's quickly relieved of her daughter, when Sielaire returns to carry the girl again. Astaire's arms wind around Sielaire's neck instinctively, and Sielaire shoots Ayrenn a fond, exasperated look over the girl's shoulder as she rocks the girl in comfort.

When Astaire's sobs have faded, Sielaire says, "Don't worry, Astaire. Mama will be back very soon, and she'll bring lots of candy for you and mommy, alright?"

Astaire nods through her sniffles, wiping clumsily at her eyes.

"Here, pinky promise?" Sielaire offers her pinky to Astaire, who hooks it with her own. "There we go. Good job, Star."

Astaire nods again, and doesn't make a fuss when Sielaire hands her back to Ayrenn. Holding the girl in her arms, Ayrenn smiles when she receives a kiss on the cheek, and watches as Sielaire boards the carriage, stealing one last glance at her family before the entourage sets off through the gates. Ayrenn waits until the carriage is out of sight, before turning back to the palace.

Rubbing Astaire's back, Ayrenn croons softly to the girl hugging about her neck. "It's alright, Star. I miss mama terribly when she's away too. But she'll come back soon. She always does."

There's no response from Astaire, but Ayrenn knows she has listened – the girl nestles closer to Ayrenn, her breaths growing slow and calm once more.

* * *

"Now, put your hands...up!"

"Up!" Astaire repeats after her mother, wearing a bright smile as Ayrenn slips a baby blue nightdress over her.

"Nice one, Star!" Ayrenn coos, tugging on the dress to straighten it, covering Astaire properly. "Blue looks really good on you. Just like it does on mommy."

"I like blue," Astaire says.

"Me too. It's a wonderful colour." Ayrenn hands the gryphon plush to Astaire, who hugs it lovingly to her chest, then climbs onto the bed and sits beside her mother. Sielaire had left the city just that morning, but Astaire has returned to her normal self in no time, easily cheered by the people around her. Ayrenn is glad the child has adjusted to their absences well, though its necessity leaves her with a twinge in her chest.

Movement from the bathroom distracts Ayrenn from her musings, and she looks up to watch Alwinarwe walking back into the room, dressed similarly in a flowing nightdress. She combs through her loose hair with her fingers, looking much more casual than her usual serious demeanour, if a little tired. Alwin stifles a yawn behind her hand, and climbs into the bed with an elegance that nearly makes Ayrenn snort in laughter.

But it seems she hasn't hidden her amusement quite well, as Alwin looks to her and asks, "Something tickles you, I presume?"

Ayrenn breaks into an impish smile. "It just hit me that we've never had a sleepover before."

"Oh, cousin dearest," Alwin deadpans, adjusting her dress as she pulls the covers up to her stomach. "We are Altmer. We don't do 'sleepovers'."

"Not proper Altmer like you, anyway," Ayrenn drawls, and Alwin shoots her a withering look.

"I still don't understand why you want me to sleep over," Alwin grumbles. "You've been doing just fine sleeping without Sielaire for nearly a century."

"Alwin, Alwin. It's for _fun_ , my dear. Even you must know what that means, yes?"

"'Fun' is me sleeping in my own bed, without a cousin determined to pluck every single one of my strings," Alwinarwe replies, lying down on her pillow.

"Sounds boring." Ayrenn coaxes Astaire into the spot beside Alwin, who helps to tuck the girl in, pulling the covers up to Astaire's shoulders. "Let's do something interesting. How about…" She leans over to Alwin, and speaks in a conspiratorial whisper, "Any deep, dark secrets you want to share?"

Alwinarwe rolls her eyes. "I have none."

"Really? All clean and above board, hm? You don't…eat mammoth steaks on the sly, maybe?"

"I don't. And what kind of silly 'dark' secret is that?" Alwin scoffs. "Besides, who shares dark secrets in a sleepover?"

"Well, I don't know. I've never done this much either." Ayrenn shrugs. "Sie does share things at night, though. Nothing you will ever learn," she adds with a wink, when Alwin glances at her curiously. "But you know who talked more than Sie in bed? Raz."

"Raz? Oh. Before you returned."

Ayrenn nods. "We traveled a lot, spent many nights sharing the same tent. Same bedroll even, when we're down on our luck." She smiles at the memories, each one as clear as if they'd happened just yesterday.

"And, what did you two share?"

"Plenty. He doesn't like moon sugar as much as he pretends. He wishes his tail was shorter. He dyes his hair red–"

"Oh please," Alwin huffs, crossing her arms. "Even the blind could tell his hair is dyed. Such a garish shade could never be natural."

Ayrenn chuckles. "That's what I said, and he sulked for an entire _week_. Come to think, he told me a _lot_ about his hair grooming regiments. That mohawk of his? I could style it for him…and for myself too. And he could braid my hair with his eyes closed."

"He did braid my hair once," Alwin says. "I was surprised by how well he did it."

"Oh? When?"

"He was escorting me back to Dusk. We were caught in a rainstorm that lasted the entire day. There wasn't much else to do while we were waiting it out, so…"

"I'm surprised you even let him touch your hair," Ayrenn laughs. "I always knew you liked him."

"I'd have liked him better if he wasn't _constantly_ trying to irritate me," Alwin bites sharply, then sighs after a moment's pause. "But his heart was in the right place. That's why I tolerated him in the first place."

Ayrenn smiles wanly, remembering her own – if different – frustrations with the sly Khajiit as well. A sigh passes her lips, and she looks down to find Astaire staring up at them with innocent blue eyes.

"You're still awake, little Star?" Ayrenn croons, patting her through the covers. "Can't sleep?"

"I'unno." Astaire shrugs, grasping at the wings of her gryphon plush.

Ayrenn watches the girl flap the wings rather sadly, and takes a guess at her silent trouble. "Is it because you miss mama?"

Astaire nods.

"Oh, sweetheart. Mama will be back soon. Maybe in the next week."

"She promised we'll play swing."

"'Play swing'?" Alwin asks, perplexed. "We don't have a swing here?"

"Not here, but we do. I'll explain later," Ayrenn says quickly, turning her attention back to Astaire. "Mama forgot to play swing before she left?"

Another nod.

"Oh dear, mama forgot her promise," Ayrenn teases. "Don't worry. When she comes back, we'll remind her, and we'll play swing together. Is that okay?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Now go to sleep, little Star. The sooner you sleep, the faster time will pass, and mama will be back quicker, hm?" Ayrenn adjusts the covers, and kisses Astaire's forehead. "Good night, sweetheart."

Ayrenn strokes the girl's hair gently, and hums a lullaby that seems to work on Alwin as well, her cousin falling asleep along with Astaire. And when she reaches the last few notes, she stops abruptly, distracted by the tingling sensation on her finger. Ayrenn raises her hand to look at the wedding band, which slowly blooms with a soothing warmth – Sielaire. She smiles, and channels magicka into her own ring, activating the enchantment that will cause the ring's bonded pair to grow warm as well. A simple message, yet precious beyond measure.

 _I love you too._


	21. Chapter 21

The air in Greenshade is quiet, peaceful, marked with an air of triumph by design, underscored by a subtle tone of grief. The last of which is scarcely noticeable – indeed, it is quite impalpable unless you know where to look; and in a camp of Dominion soldiers basking in the lull of a battle won, less than a handful of people are even aware of it. A serene atmosphere pervades the entire camp – in healers' tents where soldiers are recovering, around campfires where comrades share a mug or two, at the war table where preparations are being made not for war, but celebration.

Even in the Queen's tent, pitched closest by the overlook's edge, gazing over the dark waters glinting with the light of the moon. It is dark inside, not a single candle alight hinting at the Queen's wakefulness. But the silence within is broken by panted breath, swallowed moans, sweet nothings whispered into an ear, and the soft clink of a pendant on fine chain as it falls from its perch on a smooth neck, to the woollen bedroll below.

Sielaire is briefly distracted, eyes darting to the pendant's turquoise crystal, before fingers curl tighter in her mussed tresses, a demand that she return to the task at hand. The faintest smile crosses her lips as she returns to the kisses up Ayrenn's jaw, biting firmly to catch her attention, glimpsing clouded eyes before she catches Ayrenn in a deep kiss. Another hum reverberates over Sielaire's lips, as her fingers continue working between Ayrenn's thighs, curling and thrusting in all the right ways, never once letting up even as her lover's head falls back once more, a sigh falling from her lips.

"Sie," Ayrenn whispers, eyes falling shut as she reaches down with a trembling hand, and clutches at her lover's wrist. "Sielaire."

Even in this state, a dull note hides beneath Ayrenn's passion-stricken breath, and a sympathetic ache wells up in Sielaire's chest. At the tightening of Ayrenn's fingers on her wrist, Sielaire moves her hand harder, faster, closing her teeth on her lover's flesh, determined to be the sole object in Ayrenn's mind – as she wants, and as Ayrenn needs.

Carefully balancing herself on her knees, Sielaire reaches up with her free hand, entwining their fingers together. Ayrenn's eyes crack open to look at her, and Sielaire indulges in the desire shining through the darkness of night, flaring as she hits and strokes the sweet spot that makes Ayrenn tremble and writhe. She moves her gaze down to parted lips, and meets them again – rougher, diving in to claim that which is hers, tasting sweet surrender on her tongue.

She doesn't stop, trapping Ayrenn in one kiss after another, leaving her just enough space to breathe in between, as she drives her lover ever closer to oblivion. Ayrenn clutches at her, tighter and desperate, thighs clamping around Sielaire's hand, only to be driven apart by her lover's legs once more. Sielaire meets each buck of a hip into her palm, and drives her fingers relentlessly into slick, velvety warmth, pushing past the stiffness settling into her wrist, focusing on the lewd moans stifled by her mouth.

Her own pants start to mingle with Ayrenn's, beads of sweat trailing down to where skin meets skin, and she only dares to part from Ayrenn's lips to bite on her neck, before moving swiftly up again to take her in a kiss, when a pitched mewl reaches her ears. Ayrenn's hand grips into her hair, fingers digging into Sielaire's back as her body locks up, crying a note of ecstasy into Sielaire's mouth.

Sielaire rides the crest with her, prolonging her pleasure before slowing down, fingers turning gentle and soothing as Ayrenn's trembles and twitches fade. Parting from Ayrenn's lips – which she quickly returns to with a soft peck – Sielaire gazes down at Ayrenn, who has relaxed, head turned aside with her eyes closed. Slipping out of her lover, Sielaire settles snugly between Ayrenn's legs, occupying herself with her lover's body, planting kisses all over her slick skin. She looks up when Ayrenn moves again, and feels a hand cup her cheek gently, coming alight with an azure glow which allows their eyes to meet proper.

Sielaire smiles, and though Ayrenn doesn't return it, her heart still softens at the mellow expression on her lover's face, tousled blonde hair clinging to her jaw which makes the indomitable Queen look ever so mortal.

"You're beautiful," Sielaire murmurs, unbidden, and kisses the thumb grazing over her lips.

Ayrenn stays silent, though her hand caresses Sielaire's cheek and arm, as she is showered with soft kisses and pecks. She remains pliant under Sielaire's ministration, before asserting pressure on Sielaire's head, guiding her back up. Sielaire gives her a kiss, then allows Ayrenn to guide her down to the bedroll, gladly opening her arms for Ayrenn to nestle against her. Head burrowing into Sielaire's neck, Ayrenn circles an arm around Sielaire, the two lying together in each other's arms.

Still, she remains quiet, and Sielaire starts to worry as she combs her fingertips through blonde tresses. Ayrenn hasn't spoken much since they've left Hectahame, and made camp in a safe area while waiting for supplies and reinforcements to arrive from Marbruk. First Sielaire had thought she was angry – which she was, having been denied the right to end the lich herself – but then Sielaire noticed the Queen drifting away from her own people, letting a subtle divide grow that she has worked so hard to overcome, to reach out to others. It is not dissimilar to her pall in Grahtwood, after the incident at the Orrery, and it doesn't take much for Sielaire to figure out what is bothering her.

The trouble is, Ayrenn seems disinclined to open up this time. Gentle prodding is always turned away, concern deflected and countered with an order that Sielaire is honour-bound to fulfil – troops to coordinate, movements to plan. All duties of a battlereeve chosen for the Queen's guard, but Sielaire knows all too well they are excuses to keep her away. It makes Sielaire ache, the clear intent of her lover, and her inability to fight against it; but she doesn't let it dissuade her, working through the cracks in Ayrenn's wall, sneaking a caress or two in private, holding her hand for a few stolen moments before the Queen emerges once more.

How the tables have turned, and how unused Sielaire is; it has always been Ayrenn's part, to flash a smile and steal fond touches, keeping that affectionate warmth alive in Sielaire's chest through the day, and having her gravitate back to the Queen for company, night after night. And it seems to be working, given how Ayrenn had pounced on her that night, though Sielaire's well-aware it is for the purpose of distraction.

Rubbing her knuckles on the small of Ayrenn's back, Sielaire angles her head down to place a kiss on top of Ayrenn's hair. Her lover shifts at the movement, but does nothing to part from their embrace.

Sielaire ponders, listening to the distant sounds of steel and leather rustling over grass, and knows she doesn't have much time left to stay. "Renn."

"Mm."

"Are you alright?" Such a simple question, but it hangs heavy on her heart, which sinks a little at the silence that follows.

"No," Ayrenn replies.

"You know I'm here for you."

Fingertips trail up Sielaire's back, digging in briefly, before letting go. Regret burgeons in Sielaire when Ayrenn pulls away and lies on her back. An apology hangs on Sielaire's tongue, borne of a desire to have Ayrenn in her arms once more. Sielaire reaches over to stroke her cheek, and Ayrenn grasps onto her wrist gently, thumb circling over her skin.

"I know, Sie," Ayrenn whispers, pressing a kiss to her fingers. "But…not now, alright?"

Sielaire nods, then rises and pecks her lover's forehead. "I have to go."

Ayrenn's fingers release her without argument, and while Sielaire reaches for her uniform lying on the ground, slipping into them with practiced ease, Ayrenn sits up in her bedroll. She lights a small candle by them, providing enough illumination to see what's happening within the tent, but not too much to reveal their movements to any prying eyes from the outside. Ayrenn reaches out with her hands, and Sielaire shuffles closer to her, Ayrenn helping to buckle the pieces of armour to her body.

When they're done, Sielaire smiles at her lover, noting the shadows beneath Ayrenn's eyes, hanging darker under the weak glow of the candle. She cups Ayrenn's cheek, and leans in to give her a soft kiss.

"I'll see you in the morning, beloved."

Ayrenn's eyes meet hers, softer now. A faint smile curves Ayrenn's lips for the first time that night, and she nods.

* * *

Ayrenn doesn't change much despite Sielaire's frequent reassurances, but the battlereeve takes it in stride when they start the journey up to Velyn Harbour in Malabal Tor. It is odd to watch Ayrenn swap masks so often in their travels. The Queen leads and plans for the Silvenar and The Green Lady's wedding with Indaenir, bearing a sincere joy for the Bosmer, who seems grateful for her help and reciprocates her cheer in kind.

She is ever strong, ever bright, every bit the steadfast Queen her people have come to know and respect. Her smiles and humour returns day by day, and though it holds together a hopeful image before the Dominion, it only emphasises the shadows which fall over her in the privacy of her tent, exhaustion culminating in a strain visible on her youthful features. Sielaire misses dearly the lively Queen who never seems to slow down, but acknowledges that Ayrenn may be tiring after expending so much energy over such a long period of time. It has left her vulnerable, magnifying the weight of setbacks on her shoulders, and though Sielaire is confident Ayrenn will pick herself up in time, she still worries and earns exasperated, yet fond glances in her direction.

Her protectiveness heightens when they are within a day's travel to Velyn Harbour, and receive word of trouble that has wrought the town. As the Harbour is where The Green Lady awaits them, Ayrenn is stricken by urgency and orders her people to march on with little rest, unwilling to allow any harm fall upon the Lady. Upon reaching the town, though, they find that they've just missed the action, and the invaders were driven out just two days before. The Green Lady and the renowned Queen's Eye are nowhere to be found, having gone on to investigate the source of Velyn Harbour's troubles, but Ayrenn seems relieved that The Green Lady is alive and well.

Still, she chooses to err on the side of caution, and dispatches Sielaire to the Wood Orc camp where The Green Lady has gone. Sielaire accepts the order stoically, despite feeling the strain of travel, and leaves the Queen with a salute and only a lingering gaze, as they have eyes around them.

The camp is only a short horse-ride away from town, and Sielaire chooses to march straight to their destination, after consulting and agreeing with her lieutenants that it'll be wise to finish this quickly. A short mission will put less stress on her tired soldiers, and Sielaire is quite relieved when they find The Green Lady sneaking out of the Wood Orc camp, with the Eye by her side. Both look battered, and Sielaire escorts them farther from the camp, before setting up one of their own so they are afforded some rest for a night.

They reach Velyn Harbour the next morning, where they pay a visit to the Queen, before The Green Lady and the Eye take their leave, giving Ayrenn an assurance that they shall put an end to the trouble brewing in Malabal Tor. Sielaire watches Ayrenn long enough to note her quiet sigh, before moving onto her own duties as well. Velyn Harbour has suffered much damage from the invasion, and still needs aid to recover. Sielaire does what she knows best – shoring up defences at the town's walls and docks, helping to train a militia made of local volunteers. But before she can settle in, Ayrenn intervenes with another order – which will send Sielaire all the way across Malabal Tor.

She is half-tempted to argue against the command, but stays her tongue when Ayrenn walks close and clasps her arms, fixing her with a steady gaze. Light from the crackling fire dances across her face, which softens as she squeezes Sielaire gently.

"I'm not sending you away on purpose – I promise," Ayrenn says, and it pains Sielaire that she needs to clarify. "You are the fastest among us, one of the strongest. And I trust you." She pauses, eyes flickering away briefly. "I know I have been taxing you a lot lately. And I'm sorry. But–"

"No." Sielaire quickly silences her with two fingers on her lips. "Don't apologise."

Ayrenn presses her lips together, then lowers her gaze in defeat. She backs away from Sielaire, turning to the chest containing her personal effects, and picks from it a polished fang hung from a braided leather band.

"I saw this in a peddler's store last night. He said it's a charm that will protect you in this part of the Valenwood."

"Only this part?" Sielaire says incredulously, and Ayrenn laughs under her breath.

"Works on superstition, I suspect. But…I don't know. I thought of you." Ayrenn shrugs, then looks up when Sielaire cups her chin and kisses her.

"Thank you." Sielaire smiles, dropping the charm into a belt pocket.

Ayrenn's lips curve as well, and she circles both arms around Sielaire's waist, pressing up to her. "Will you stay tonight? I'd like to be with you before you leave."

The low timbre in her voice is unmistakable, and Sielaire's heart skips a beat as she gives her answer in a kiss, drawn in further when Ayrenn's lips yield under hers. She relishes the softness, the openness with which Ayrenn receives her, and her head is light when she meets blue eyes laying her bare.

"I'm yours," Sielaire whispers.

* * *

Sielaire's task: to secure the roads and settlements of Malabal Tor with all haste, so the Dominion is able to fly to The Green Lady's aid when she calls for it. A simple enough task easily completed with due diligence, and Sielaire forges ahead with her soldiers, setting up garrisons at less protected villages, scheduling regular patrols to secure the roads leading to and from settlements. Taking a leaf from Ayrenn's book, Sielaire tries to build a better relationship between the local Bosmer and her soldiers as well, tending to the concerns at each village to earn their confidence, and quell any fears of occupation.

Truthfully, it makes her job that little bit harder, but Sielaire starts to understand why Ayrenn channels so much energy into her people. To earn their trust is a reward in itself, but to bear their respect as well is quite fulfilling indeed. For the first time, Sielaire feels the threads of the Dominion weaving and intertwining, providing subtle strength that is surely the source of hope from which Ayrenn draws and projects. Although, she still falls short of sharing the exact vision which the Queen purports, her own doubts and concerns of practicality marring the dream.

It is a negligible thing, to be sure. She is more than content to leave the workings of a visionary to Ayrenn, but she still finds herself seeking reassurance – for herself, and the Queen – and finally reaches out for help.

They've reached a grove named Valeguard, where Bosmer spinners reside. It is said that some spinners have knowledge of the future, and even though their knowledge is only of the Bosmer people, Sielaire is set on gaining some insight. The Spinner she consults cocks his head at her question – to know the future of Valenwood and the Bosmer, and if they will flourish, how will they do so?

Sielaire nods in understanding when the spinner says nothing is truly set in stone, and she waits while the Bosmer goes into a peaceful trance, working magic which winds around him in a benign aura. Her heart beats quicker in silence, half-wishing she hadn't asked, remembering that ignorance is sometimes bliss. But she is soon soothed by the Bosmer's words, spoken with a dream-like tone.

"There will be dark times ahead, filled with much death and sacrifice. But the Bosmer shall flourish after, standing with our most steadfast allies."

* * *

The spinner doesn't elaborate after that, but judging by the beatific smile on his face, Sielaire needn't worry about any specifics. Thus, she sets her burdens down for a moment, allowing herself and her soldiers to rest in the peaceful grove. But trouble inevitably finds its way to them – this one through a runner dispatched to deliver a message to Sielaire. It is a terse command written on a note by the Queen: Battlereeve Sielaire will travel to the city of Silvenar post-haste, and aid in the removal of a threat to Valenwood's peace.

Sielaire jumps to her feet and barks an order, which has her soldiers scrambling to their feet, brushing off the lackadaisical mood that has fallen over them. On their horses, they thunder through the forest with no attempt at stealth; Sielaire's gut tells her that she is needed at Silvenar for an all-out battle, and her instincts are on point.

They reach the city to find several houses ablaze, threatening to spread across the city if left unchecked. Dominion soldiers are scattered across the streets, engaged in fierce battle against Bosmer dressed in full bone armour, fighting with a near-feral intensity. Sielaire and her Wings rush into the fray, their sudden appearance taking their foes aback, long enough to send them into disarray and break their lines. She pushes their foes into retreat, inch by inch, and frees up more Dominion soldiers, sending them to deal with the fires before the entirety of Silvenar is razed to the ground.

Amid the chaos of battle, Sielaire spots a figure clad in blue and gold, sword flashing with the light of flames as it dances with agile grace, blade slick with blood. Sielaire makes straight for the Queen, whose fiery gaze turns to her, and lights up in recognition. They fall into a familiar dance, fighting in harmony as Sielaire escorts the Queen to the Great Tree, where she is determined to follow the Eye and face the mastermind responsible for this chaos.

Her intent is only made known to Sielaire at the very last second, and Ayrenn finds her arm locked in an iron grip by the battlereeve, who refuses to let her go. They argue, and though Sielaire is forced to release the Queen, Ayrenn stays at the base of the Great Tree with Sielaire, when she finds her way up barred by a magical barrier. Only when Indaenir arrives and dispels the barrier, is Ayrenn granted access. The Queen turns to Sielaire and gives her a curt command to stay, before climbing up the Great Tree with the Silvenar.

Sielaire clenches her jaw, and turns her frustration towards the stragglers still putting up a fight in the city. She orders her soldiers to spread out, and their time is spent clearing the city of invaders, until the last of them have fled. Only when Ayrenn returns to give the all-clear, does she gather her soldiers. But the Queen's reappearance doesn't give her comfort – they've received word of more trouble brewing in Reaper's March, on the border between Valenwood and Elsweyr.

Sielaire's fear that Ayrenn will insist on heading to Reaper's March is realised, when she seeks the Queen out in her private quarters. Ayrenn wants to ensure the safety of the Mane – the leader of the Khajiit – and Sielaire ripostes, insisting she doesn't need to risk her own life for the matter.

"You have agents to investigate the matter in your stead. There is no need for you to handle it personally. _And_ ," Sielaire adds when Ayrenn starts to argue. "We've already traveled much farther than planned–"

"Because we need to, Sielaire," Ayrenn retorts. " _I_ need to. I can scarcely stand aside while our allies face dangers that threaten their stability. _Our_ stability."

"It still doesn't change the fact that we've been dealing with these threats by the edge of our ears. We've come much too far, and we are operating without a plan!" Sielaire counters. "The dangers we've seen have only grown worse the farther we go. I cannot stand to watch you get hurt just because–"

Sielaire stops suddenly, realising what has just fallen from her lips – and judging from the look on Ayrenn's face, it seems her companion has caught on as well. She takes a step back to calm down, chiding herself for allowing this to turn personal, and averts her eyes.

"Sie." Ayrenn's voice has softened as she moves closer. "I understand how you feel. But as I said – I cannot stand by and watch while another threat looms on the horizon. I need to be there, for my people."

Guilt stabs at Sielaire's heart, but she steels herself. "And I am yours to command."

"No, Sie." Ayrenn slips her fingers between Sielaire's, which freeze in a second of indecision, before curling around Ayrenn's. "Please. You are not just…" Her voice trails off, then returns, stronger. "I love you, Sie. And I don't want to push you any further than you're willing to go."

"Ayrenn," Sielaire cuts in, before she can speak any further. "I will follow you, wherever you choose to go. I do not say this out of mere duty. You are my heart, and I cannot rest unless I know that you are safe – that _I_ can keep you safe."

Ayrenn stares at her, then raises a hand to touch her cheek. "I know. I'm–" She takes a breath and sighs, her gaze sweet and aching. "Thank you."

* * *

The night after, Sielaire finds Ayrenn in her quarters in the Great Tree, looking rather tired. She is quieter, but gives a soft smile and takes Sielaire's hand, asking her to _'trust me'_. Ayrenn's smile grows brighter at Sielaire's nod, and she casts an invisibility spell over them, leading Sielaire through the network of bridges between the towering trees of Silvenar. Sielaire has to bite down a protest when Ayrenn leads her out of the city, walking off the bridge to the middle of a cliff, and together they set on a short hike up to the top. Ayrenn seems to search around the area, winding about in a methodical path, until they've arrived at a copse lit by the glow of torchbugs flying lazily through the air.

Ayrenn smiles back at her, tugging at her hand, and they settle into a comfortable crook between the great roots of a tree, overlooking the multi-coloured lights of the city.

"I spotted this place from my window last night," Ayrenn explains, as Sielaire slips an arm around her waist. "Thought it'd be a nice place to…get away for a while."

Sielaire hums. "It is quite beautiful."

"Glad you like it." Ayrenn laughs under her breath, nestling her head into Sielaire's neck. "I just want to be with you for a while."

 _Me too_. Sielaire closes her eyes, resting a cheek atop blonde tresses. To be stolen away by her lover, to have Ayrenn in her arms, is the best luxury Sielaire can think to have for now. She relaxes, relishing in Ayrenn's closeness, idly stroking the bare skin of her lover's arm. Her mind drifts to a peaceful blank, then wakes when she hears Ayrenn's voice.

"Sie?"

"Hm?"

A long pause. "Are you angry?"

Sielaire sits still, eyes opening as she ponders the reason for this question. "No."

Ayrenn's head shifts on her shoulder. "But you have plenty of reason to be."

As Sielaire frowns, Ayrenn sits up and turns to face her. "Why?"

Ayrenn's gaze drops, before lifting to meet Sielaire's with a wan smile. "I've gone against your wishes time and again, despite the fact that you want the best for me. Doesn't that frustrate you?"

"Yes, it does."

"And?"

"And…what are you expecting from me?" Sielaire asks slowly, and notices the brief frown that scrunches Ayrenn's brows.

"You were angry with me yesterday."

"I–, yes. I was." Sielaire opts not to lie, though she regrets the decision when Ayrenn gives a stiff smile.

"And you're still here."

"Where else would I be?"

Ayrenn opens her mouth, on the verge of speaking, but heaves a sigh instead. "You haven't thought about it, then? To wash your hands of me? To be free of this headache?"

Though Ayrenn wears a smile, Sielaire sits up, worry biting deep. "Renn, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I've put you through all this, and all I can say is that I regret the necessity. I've put this burden onto your shoulders, which I cannot take away any time soon."

"It is not a burden."

"It is. I don't know if this is what you wanted when you fell in with me. But you could've…had it easier."

"Ayrenn," Sielaire intones, clasping her hand. "Don't."

Ayrenn lets out a breath. "I'm sorry. You could've had better if I chose to let you go–"

"Renn." Sielaire cups her chin, lifting her gaze. "Listen to me. _I_ chose to be with you. And I accept all that comes with it. You frustrate me, Your Majesty, but it doesn't make me love you any less." She smiles when Ayrenn snorts, breaking into a weak laugh. "If anything, I find myself loving you even more."

She cradles Ayrenn's face in both hands. "So please – don't think of letting me go. I cannot bear the thought of living without you."

Ayrenn smiles, then presses a soft kiss to Sielaire's lips. "Neither can I," she murmurs, taking Sielaire's hand and clutching it to her heart. "And I will let nothing tear you away from me – I swear."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey peeps, just a lil note. I'm thinking of easing up on Devotion updates...sometime. I feel like I've written most of what I want for these two, barring a few more ideas and AUs. I still love this fic and will write more, but depending on how it goes, the updates might get shorter, or infrequent. We'll see. But there'll be more to come, that I promise. So no worries ;)

tldr; updates might get shorter or irregular. And thanks so much for following this fic so far 3


	22. Wanderlust - 4

The secret tour about their own home is quickly finished, with an effortless trek over lands they know better than the back of their hands. The roads eventually lead them southward, where they pay a visit to Alwinarwe's estate, before turning west for the city of Sunhold, where they will board a ship that will bring them away from the Summerset Isles, to start their honeymoon 'proper' – as Ayrenn likes to put it. She expects their holiday to be nothing less than an adventure, and an adventure she will never find unless she steps out of Summerset, where she is home and much too safe…for _her_ tastes, at least.

Sielaire sighs quietly at the thought, but she can hardly stay troubled when her partner seems overcome by happiness, the smile never leaving Ayrenn's face ever since she greeted Sielaire with a kiss that morning, when they woke from a night's rest at Sunhold's premier inn. While Sielaire bid the luxury of Summerset a silent farewell, Ayrenn had dressed quickly, then pulled her wife downstairs to start their day in earnest. A good breakfast, another stroll through the market to pick up supplies, and now here they are, walking towards the docks to look for their ship.

 _'Wavestrider'_ is the ship's name, and it takes a brief search to find the one sturdy and well-polished ship among its similar counterparts. Ayrenn takes Sielaire's hand again, her eagerness apparent in her firm grip and tug, but she slowed as they neared the ship – and it takes a moment for Sielaire to figure out why.

Ayrenn's eyes are fixed on a Khajiit leaning against a wooden pillar, flipping a coin nimbly between his fingers. Years of experience helps Sielaire recognise Razum-dar in an instant, even though he has swapped his fashionable leathers for a duller shirt and pants, with a brown cap hiding his distinctive red mohawk. The nondescript Khajiit smiles at the approach of his very ordinary Altmer friends, and he tiptoes as Ayrenn meets him in a hug.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Ayrenn says, pulling back.

"Of course you didn't. This one wanted to surprise you." Razum-dar tosses Sielaire a casual two-finger salute. "He figured, might as well send you off before you go missing for…oh, maybe another ten, twenty years again?"

Ayrenn snorts and elbows him in the ribs. "Don't push my buttons here. There's nothing stopping me from shoving you off the docks."

"Nonsense. Our darling Siranya wouldn't let that happen, would she?" Razum-dar looks at Sielaire pointedly, though his confidence fades with amazing speed at her growing smirk.

"I don't know, Ranzik. My dear Aralinwe does tend to have accidents while I'm looking away…"

"Oh, you two can be so cruel," Raz laughs, though Sielaire notices his glance at the waters below the docks, as he inches away from the edge of the platform. "And here kind-hearted Ranzik was, planning to give you a parting gift…"

He holds up a travel box bag in one paw, and swings it deliberately before Ayrenn takes it with a smile. It's no bigger than a portable medicine box, and its handle can be detached on one side, so the bag can be fastened to something else – a backpack, for example.

"Thank you," she says, unclasping the bag when Raz waves his hand.

She lifts the lid and peers in with Sielaire; rolled-up scrolls are packed neatly at the bottom, on top of which rests a folded scarf, two small packs of candy, a sheathed knife, and a pair of black fingerless gloves.

Ayrenn picks up the gloves and asks, "Why only one pair?"

"Because your wife gets the scarf," Razum-dar explains. "And you get the gloves because this one remembers how cold your hands can get."

"That's so sweet," Ayrenn croons.

"Sweet for Sie, not you." Raz rolls his eyes, sharing a sympathetic glance with Sielaire. They've both had plenty of experience with Ayrenn's hands, which can feel ice-cold on a particularly chilly night, and will seek out the nearest source of warmth for comfort. Sielaire's been jolted many times before, when Ayrenn had reached under her shirt to touch her warm skin. And Raz had been a victim in their younger days, when Ayrenn constantly grabbed his nape with chilly hands just to hear him yelp.

"Still, it'll keep me warm. If someone doesn't, that is…"

Sielaire sighs, averting her eyes from Ayrenn's impish gaze. "Thank you, Raz. Ranz," she corrects herself.

"It's nothing. Oh, those are recall scrolls, by the way." Raz points them out as Ayrenn clasps the bag shut. "For when you get into trouble. And this one knows you will get into trouble."

"Then we shall fulfill your prophecy, oh wise one." Ayrenn bows with a flair while Raz crosses his arms, looking half-fond, half-exasperated.

"He looks forward to being proven wrong. Just so you know." His eyes turn towards the ship, when the first call for passengers is bellowed from a sailor's mighty lungs. "And that's you. Time to go."

Razum-dar spreads his arms wide, and Ayrenn flies in for another embrace, two old friends trying to squeeze the life from each other. And when they survive, Raz turns to Sielaire and a briefer, but no less sincere hug.

"Take care now. This one has friends everywhere, keeping an eye out for you. Just give the signal if you need help, yes?"

Ayrenn smiles, and gives his hand one last squeeze. "Of course. Thank you."

As they walk away from Raz, Sielaire turns back to wave at him, a gesture returned with a happy flick of his tail. He's very easy to read when he lets his guard down, Sielaire muses; gazing back at him, she realises that she will miss this wily Khajiit while they're away. And he'll probably miss them too…though it does give him more time to bother the Proxy Queen, of whom he's quite fond as well.

Sielaire laughs under her breath as she climbs up the ship's ramp with Ayrenn.

 _Good luck, Alwin._

* * *

Though Sielaire has more patience than Ayrenn, and can pass longer periods of time with little to do, she finds herself growing restless just four days into the journey, thinking of the month-long voyage that would take them around the main continent. They've opted to start their travels from Morrowind, then wind their way home from there. Part of her often wonders why they've chosen this mode of travel – until she remembers it was her wife who'd talked her into this, whenever she tried to argue for travel by portal. _'It's part of the experience,'_ is all Ayrenn offers on her part, a notion Sielaire thinks is absolutely frivolous, but gives in to anyway. It's a frequent occurrence for one wrapped so tightly around her wife's finger.

Thankfully, Ayrenn provides her with sufficient entertainment to pass the time. Sielaire follows her around the ship as they explore the decks together, acting less as a guard, and more a self-appointed keeper who ensures Ayrenn doesn't get up to shenanigans…that will get her caught, anyway. Sielaire closes an eye when Ayrenn plays little pranks to keep herself amused, like tripping an annoying passenger with a little telekinesis, but intervenes when Ayrenn seems on the verge of doing something foolhardy – like jumping off the ship to join a group of dolphins leaping up from the sea, under the light of dawn.

Sielaire has earned a few pouts since the voyage started, and no doubt will receive more as they travel longer – be it by land or sea. As it so happens, Sielaire is expecting to get one as she searches the ship, trying to find a wife who slipped away while she was busy watching a performance by an acrobatic troupe on the main deck. Honestly, Sielaire isn't worried about Ayrenn's safety, only growing concerned when she can't find her partner after a sweep through the ship. But any suspicion of Ayrenn's mischief is put to rest, when Sielaire walks into their private cabin last, and finds Ayrenn sitting on the bed, reading an old book which seems on the verge of falling apart between the tips of her fingers.

Sielaire's surprise doesn't last long as she shuts the door, eyes falling on the book in Ayrenn's hands. She grimaces, finally realising why the faded cover looks so familiar…

"Just why are you reading that?" Sielaire asks, going to lie beside Ayrenn, propped up against the wall.

Ayrenn shoots her a crooked grin. "For old times' sake. You have to revisit the classics now and again…"

"That is _not_ a classic," Sielaire points out. "It's utter trash."

"Oh, but Sie," Ayrenn says in mock reproach. "Where else can you find such an iconic line as, _'Oh, Battlereeve Sielaire! Please delve into my wet, narrow cave and sate the demons of lust that dwell within!_ " Laughter dots Ayrenn's voice as she speaks, before breaking into a full-blown cackle. "Gods, I missed these!"

Sielaire groans, and slumps farther down the wall. This particular edition of erotica was one of the first published, and though Sielaire had managed to convince Ayrenn to toss these pieces of… _'literature'_ she's obtained, they're now replaced with updated editions which involve the Empress and her Consort. The contents of which Sielaire knows well, because she's had the misfortune of having none other than Empress Ayrenn herself narrating the tawdry antics written in those pages.

Well, 'misfortune' being a subjective word. Though Ayrenn doesn't indulge in this too often – thankfully – she always does seem to get her way when she sets her mind to it. And past experience tells Sielaire exactly where they're heading, when she feels the press of Ayrenn's chest to her side.

"Sie…"

"Mm." Sielaire tries to sound as bored as possible, even if she knows it won't deter Ayrenn in the slightest. Maybe spur her on, even.

"Do you feel in the mood for…chapter 12?"

Ayrenn's voice has dipped to a lower timbre, and Sielaire has to focus to keep her mind straight. Frowning to herself, Sielaire discovers that she _had_ successfully purged parts of the erotica from her mind, because she can't recall what 'chapter 12' entails.

Sielaire sighs. "Do I dare ask what that means?"

Ayrenn's soft chuckle sends puffs of breath over Sielaire's jaw as her wife inches closer, hand trailing up beneath Sielaire's shirt. "Oh, Battlereeve. _Please_ ," Ayrenn recites huskily into Sielaire's ear, which twitches. "Please plunge your strong, thick blade into my wet, quivering sheath…"

Sielaire snorts a laugh, but when she next draws breath, it's just a bit more difficult. She doesn't resist when Ayrenn takes her hand, presses her palm against a thigh, and slides it ever upward.

"I've been waiting for you," Ayrenn murmurs, lips caressing a sensitive ear, and Sielaire wonders dimly if she'd memorised the lines just for this occasion. "I want you to fill me…up to the hilt–"

Ayrenn breaks off, chuckling when more laughs escape from Sielaire's lips. She pecks Sielaire on the cheek, then catches her in a quick kiss. "So?"

"This is ridiculous."

"You say that, Sie." Ayrenn parts her thighs further, adjusting Sielaire's hand where it's nestled in between. She pushes against the back of Sielaire's fingers, which presses up against her, through the fabric of her pants. "But you're still here."

"I can't go anywhere with you holding me down," Sielaire deadpans, though she adds more pressure with her fingers, half-wishing there was no barrier between them.

"If you're going to lie, dearest. You'll have to try harder."

A smirk – lascivious and _hard_ – curves Ayrenn's lips. Sielaire cannot look away from Ayrenn, as her hand is guided up, then down past the waistband. Her fingers slide home at the juncture between Ayrenn's thighs, and she strokes the dampness there – once. Then she stays still, and Ayrenn rises to the challenge in earnest.

"Stubborn," Ayrenn breaths, just a hairsbreadth from Sielaire's lips, before she ghosts over her wife's cheek, and hovers by the ear. "But I know _exactly_ what will make you break." She moves Sielaire's fingers, stroking herself by proxy.

Sielaire has to force herself to take a breath, already feeling giddy from the steel in Ayrenn's voice.

"You're mine, Sielaire. You've always been mine," Ayrenn intones in her ear. "And you will give me. What I want."

A swallow through a throat suddenly dry. Ayrenn guides her fingers again, stroking the core which grows wetter as Ayrenn uses her, and grinds slowly against her palm.

"Do you know what I want, Sie?" Ayrenn has changed tack, a breathy quality mixing with the husky command in her voice. "What I _need_. Sielaire…" She grinds fully against Sielaire's hand, moaning ever so softly, so _sweetly_ , when she angles her hips just so. "I need you. I need you to take me. Claim me. Fuck me. Make me your slu–"

Ayrenn gasps, body tightening when Sielaire drives two fingers into her, winning the challenge in a single heartbeat. Or did she lose, break just how Ayrenn wants her? No matter. Sielaire pumps her fingers into her wife, who moans and keens at the pace she has set, hips bucking involuntarily against her. She clamps an arm around Ayrenn's waist, holding her in place as she drives into Ayrenn relentlessly – then pulls out without warning.

Ayrenn's eyes snap open, and her hips haven't stopped moving, searching for Sielaire's hand, when she is shoved back down onto the bed. Sielaire yanks Ayrenn's pants off, and sinks her fingers back in before her wife can react. Ayrenn keens again, a pitched whine in the back of her throat as her body arches. Sielaire has to refrain herself from letting go, and bends down to give Ayrenn a single kiss.

Her wife's eyes are clouded as they stare back up at her, overtaken by lust, yet still bearing a glint of triumph. Sielaire smiles faintly, love buoying in her chest, before it is smothered with a harder desire.

"Prepare that pretty little mouth of yours, darling," Sielaire purrs, slick and dangerous. "You will beg before I'm through with you."

* * *

After an entire month spent on the seas, the sight of Telvanni mushroom towers looming in the distance is a welcome sight, even if odd and foreign. Sielaire sits on a bench with Ayrenn, bags set on the floor as they wait for the ship to moor at the docks. The rest of the passengers stream up to the main deck as the ship sails to a smooth stop, and the ramp is finally set down. A jovial call from the captain, and his passengers take the cue to start disembarking.

Slinging the travel bags onto their shoulders, Sielaire stands and takes Ayrenn's hand which has slipped into hers. They join the crowd strolling down the ramp, and catch the eye of the captain, who bellows to them a hearty farewell – conveying thanks to the Altmer pair who has helped his crew repel two pirate attacks on his ship. Sielaire gives him a nod, while Ayrenn smiles and waves, before the crowd blocks the captain from view.

Making their way from the docks without hurry, Sielaire follows Ayrenn's lead as her wife ventures farther into town, looking for the inn which was recommended to them. Sielaire eyes the Telvanni guards patrolling the roads, but forces herself to relax; the last time she was in Morrowind, Sielaire had been guarding the Queen while she met with the Tribunal in talks for peace. Tensions were high, and the sight of any armed Dunmer set Sielaire on alert, ready for any sudden movements towards the Queen.

Of course, her severe caution is unnecessary while they're incognito, but it's a habit that is hard to break. Not that she ever intends to break it.

Sielaire looks up at the giant mushroom tower to the east, guessing it to be a town hall of sorts, and turns to Ayrenn for confirmation. Her wife had spent some time in Morrowind before, and possesses more knowledge on the Dunmer – which she seems disinclined to share at the moment.

Ayrenn's eyes are fixed on the display of cages set up beneath the shade of a large mushroom cap, the solid metal bars holding one or two captives each. Khajiit and Argonian make up the majority, with a few mer and humans tossed into the mix for some diversity – no, for _choice_. Distaste wells up in Sielaire as she eyes the heavy slave shackles on their wrists and ankles, and notes their various states of undress which shows off their physique. Blood pumps quicker in her veins, and she has to tear her eyes away from the display.

A glance at Ayrenn – who is now frowning at the slave merchant – and she tugs at her wife's hand. There's slight resistance at first, but Ayrenn soon relents, turning her head as they walk towards the town centre. Making sure to keep a good grip on Ayrenn so she won't fly off to cause trouble, Sielaire casts her eyes around and finds the mug-and-sword sign hanging at the entrance of a large inn, built with stones to cater to foreign tastes.

They rent a room for two nights, and head up to set their bags down. Sielaire digs into her pack for her wallet, then straps a sword to her hip – just in case. And when she looks up, she doesn't find Ayrenn similarly preparing for a short walk through the town. Instead, her wife stands at the open window, staring out at the corner where the slave cages are half-hidden from view by the market.

"Renn, you ready?" Sielaire asks, hoping to break the intensity that has fallen over Ayrenn's features. But the mer doesn't react, staring with a scowl on her face, eyes hard and hateful.

"It's been outlawed for so long. Even back in the Pact," Ayrenn mutters to herself, pressing knuckles to her mouth in thought. "There must be a way to end this…reliance."

The Empress is starting to emerge, and Sielaire hesitates for a moment, before walking to the window. Gently grasping Ayrenn's shoulders, she turns her wife around, and cups Ayrenn's face in both hands.

"There is a way, and you will find it when you're back in the throne. And _that_ ," Sielaire places an emphasis when Ayrenn opens her mouth to speak. "Won't be for a while yet. Unless you want to fly home this instant."

Ayrenn's lips part, and Sielaire can almost hear the argument threatening to spill over, but it's replaced by a vexed huff instead. She purses her lips, which Sielaire covers with a soft kiss.

"I know it's hard to swallow," Sielaire says when she pulls back. "But…"

"Not the time," Ayrenn utters. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath; and when she looks back at Sielaire, a smile curves her lips. "Let's grab a bite to eat, hm?"

Sielaire tilts her head and returns the smile, making a mental note to stay away from the mushroom tower.

* * *

Two days and nights pass without incident, and on the third morning, their packs are refilled and their map marked with plenty of details that will help them navigate the terrain. So they set off on a trek with confident gaits, sharing a companionable silence as they walk down the road. Occasionally venturing off the paved stones, they help each other over an earthy terrain with endless slopes, as if the waves of the ocean have been captured in likeness by hard soil. There is a slight ashy tinge to the air, but Sielaire doesn't take it for granted – she knows from experience that the air will only get worse the closer they travel to Vvardenfell.

The morning passes quickly, and they don't stop for lunch, choosing to sate themselves with the cake and guar strips they've purchased from the market. And Sielaire has just shoved the rest of the cake into her mouth, when Ayrenn suddenly grabs her arm, holding her in place. She glances at her wife in question, growing more curious at the frown creasing Ayrenn's brows – when she hears it. The cut of a whip through air, the painful impact on flesh, and the harsh barks in Dunmeris.

Sielaire's heart beats quicker, and she tries to move in a direction away from the sound, but it's too late – Ayrenn is already pulling her towards the commotion. They stop and kneel behind a cluster of bushes and mushrooms, peering over the leaves to watch a small slave caravan being pulled over sparse grass by a trio of guar, escorted by a handful of guards. A slaver stalks around the caravan on the back of his horse, barking and lashing a whip at his 'cargo' for no apparent reason but his own pleasure.

The soft hiss of a blade from its well-oiled sheath catches Sielaire's attention, and she shoots a warning glance at Ayrenn, who's already gripping her sword at ready.

"Renn, _please_."

"Either follow me, or stay here. Your choice," Ayrenn says curtly, and wrenches her arm away from Sielaire's hand, which has reached out to grab her.

" _Renn!_ " Sielaire whispers urgently, even as she draws her own sword as well, knowing full well how this will end.

Ayrenn rises to her feet and skirts around the perimeter, sneaking under the shade of trees until she flanks the caravan. Sielaire opts to stay behind the bushes, watching Ayrenn stalk her prey with feline grace, then lunge forward to sink her sword through the back of one guard. Taking the cue, Sielaire bursts from her hiding place, lightning flashing from her hand to rend through three bodies which keel over to the ground, flesh charred. The slavers have barely pulled together when Ayrenn and Sielaire descend upon them, swinging their blades with deadly accuracy, ending the battle before it can begin.

While Sielaire checks their surroundings for any witnesses, Ayrenn searches the Dunmer bodies, and finds a key with which she unlocks the caravan's gate. Five slaves walk out of their cage shakily, looking at them with wide eyes, as if in disbelief. Ayrenn unlocks the shackles binding their wrists and ankles, and heals their wounds with magic. Then she hands them a small coin purse, and tells them to run – that they are free.

A rugged-looking Argonian steps forth to clasp her hands in his own, and rumbles his thanks. He bows his head, murmuring a few short phrases in his native tongue, before smiling up at them and waving for his companions to follow.

Sielaire watches as the freed slaves fall in behind the Argonian, who leads them towards the shade of the trees with confidence. She suspects the Argonian has some woodsman expertise, as he is quick to teach his fellows how to blend into the shadows. The Argonian looks back at them, gives them one last grateful wave, before slinking farther into the trees with his group.

"See?" Ayrenn says, hands on her hips as she looks at Sielaire. "Didn't take more than a few minutes."

Sielaire raises her eyes skywards, feeling a brief flicker of frustration before relief takes its place. "Don't get cocky. We won't be this lucky all the time."

"I know," Ayrenn concedes. She slings an arm around Sielaire's, and pecks her on the cheek. "And thank you for helping."

"Your wish is always my command, Your Majesty," Sielaire grumbles under her breath, sheathing her sword. "For better or worse."

"Surely for better, Sie. At least, I'll try to make it so." Ayrenn smiles.

Sielaire sighs, unable to feel upset as she gazes back at her wife's happy visage. She runs a hand down Ayrenn's black locks, and presses a kiss to her temple – all is forgiven after a promise made. It probably won't hold for too long, but Sielaire still appreciates Ayrenn's intent.

She glances back at the empty caravan behind them, and the bodies lying around it. Blood rightfully spilled, in Sielaire's opinion, but others may not share her view – and the thought sparks an urgency in her gut.

"Let's go," Sielaire says, nodding at the road. "Before anyone stumbles across this."

"Thinking like a criminal now, hm?" Ayrenn teases her, as they stride briskly away from the scene. "I could teach you a few more tricks…"

"Don't push your luck, _dearest_."

"Oh, you'll give in, my darling," Ayrenn croons. "You always do."

* * *

 **A/N:** Seems it'll be a while before I slow down...habit amirite? Moar gey coming ;)


	23. Chapter 23

Composure is Battlereeve Sielaire's greatest strength; it keeps her anchored amid the tumult of battle raging on all sides, threatening to engulf her with glinting blades and flying arrows, all thirsting for her blood. Her mind whirls with endless calculation – lunging forth to land a risky blow, giving ground to lure foes into a false sense of security, suffering the bite of steel on her flesh to deliver the final blow on her opponent. Against the Redguards, to whom the dance of blades is an art form, such minute tactics are necessary to survive, to _win_. And Sielaire, who has broken the Redguard's flank with her Wings, gains ever more ground and sows such chaos among their foes, that even in the clash of blades, she can feel hesitation humming beneath the ferocity of Hammerfell's warriors.

It is, perhaps, this conceit which blinds her. With victory so close at hand, Sielaire throws off the trappings of caution, and darts at their foes like a vicious predator, leading her pack as they take down another foe with each swing of the blade, every scorching lance of magic. Bloodlust pounds in Sielaire's veins, and only instinct slows her down for a second, as she casts her eyes back to the Queen.

Her love, ever resplendent in blue-and-gold splattered with red, shines like a beacon through the chaos. Sunlight plays off the polished metal of her armour and crown, and heedless of her own beauty, Ayrenn fights through the endless attempts on her life, dauntless. Sielaire's heart beats with an ache that nearly matches the sting of her wounds, then freezes in the heat of battle.

Ayrenn comes to an abrupt halt in her deadly dance, shoulders jerking forward as she stares unseeing at the soldiers before her. Sielaire is mystified, until she spots the wooden shaft of an arrow jutting from Ayrenn's unarmoured back, sunk too deeply for comfort. In an instant, Sielaire's mind switches to the defensive, but as she takes a step towards her Queen, suffering a sword wound on the arm in her distraction, another sight stops her in her tracks.

Quick as lightning, a Redguard warrior flies forward to plunge the thick blade of his spear into Ayrenn's gut. She staggers backward, blood dribbling from her lips as blue magicka gathers in her free hand, and Sielaire's cry splits the air.

Calm shattered, Sielaire doesn't pay mind to Earilas tackling down her own opponent. With magic and blade, the battlereeve carves her way through the field of soldiers in her want, in her _need_ to be with her beloved. Green lightning recedes as Sielaire nears Ayrenn, who has blown her opponent back, the spear ripped from her body in the same motion. Blood seeps through her tunic immediately, dripping beneath punctured leathers. Ayrenn seems shaken, head turning to watch Sielaire, who catches her before she can fall to the ground.

Sielaire grips onto Ayrenn's body, as the Queen's shaking fingers scrabble briefly at her cheek, then clutches at her collar.

"Sie," Ayrenn rasps after a wet cough.

"Hush. Hush, love," Sielaire breathes. She glances around when a war horn sounds in the distance – a signal for the Redguards to retreat. And as Dominion soldiers start tightening ranks around their Queen, Sielaire sets Ayrenn on the ground, sitting upright with her shoulder leaning heavily against Sielaire's chest.

"I'm–"

"Hush, love," Sielaire repeats, as she slices off a scarf hanging from her back. "Please."

Head growing light when blood from Ayrenn's mouth drips onto her hand, Sielaire loops the thick scarf around Ayrenn's stomach, and tightens the makeshift bandage with a sharp tug on both ends – ripping a breathless cry from Ayrenn's lips.

"Stay with me. Renn, _focus_." Panic rises in Sielaire when Ayrenn's head lolls against hers, and she quickly cuts off a portion of the arrow shaft jutting from Ayrenn's back. She prays it isn't so, but knows the arrow is buried too deep to have missed the lung.

"Sie," Ayrenn croaks through a slow, rattling inhale, her death grip on Sielaire's uniform losing strength. "Can't…breathe…"

Sielaire nearly breaks, but hope overshadows despair as she looks up at the horse Earilas has brought to her. Her lieutenant bends down, and together they lift the Queen onto the saddle, where Sielaire quicky joins her.

"We'll be on your heels," Earilas says, and Sielaire nods, though her eyes are not on him.

Ayrenn's gaze is clouded over, stubbornly fixed on Sielaire, even as her shoulders tremble with the effort of taking painful, stuttering breaths. Sielaire guides Ayrenn's head onto her shoulder, and winces in sympathy when Ayrenn gasps quietly from the sudden, jerking motion of the horse running forward.

The ride back to camp is torturous for the Queen – Ayrenn groans at the constant jostle of the arrowhead in her, occasionally coughing up blood, before she loses enough energy that she cannot respond to the jolts of pain anymore. Sielaire's heart beats close to bursting, and she doesn't stop even when she tears through the camp on horseback, only coming to a halt before the Queen's tent.

"Healer!" Sielaire bellows at no one in particular, but it doesn't matter – as she dismounts and carefully slides Ayrenn from the saddle, the rest of the camp echoes her command in ever-rising volumes, quickly reaching an urgency that brings a squad of healers to the tent.

They follow Sielaire inside, and barely wait for her to finish setting Ayrenn on the ground, before wresting matters from her hands. Panic overtakes Sielaire again when she realises she _doesn't_ want to be parted from her beloved, gripping futilely onto Ayrenn's limp hand as another healer takes her firmly by the shoulders, and guides her away. Ayrenn's eyes have fallen shut when Sielaire loses grip, and her throat tightens as the healer pushes her out of the tent.

"Is she–?"

Her hoarse question remains unfinished. The last thing Sielaire glimpses is the healers unbuckling Ayrenn's armour, before the tent flaps are pulled shut, blocking the Queen from view. Sielaire stands dumbly before the tent, fear squeezing her heart tight, her mind imprinted with the image of Ayrenn's pale complexion and the blood dripping down her chin. She has to leave, but she doesn't want to – what if something happens? What if Ayrenn needs her? She needs to be there for her wife…

Sielaire nearly reaches for the tent flaps, when a hand lands on her shoulder. She jerks her head around to find Earilas peering at her in concern. His dirt-smeared face and flyaway blonde hair brings a modicum of sense back to her mind. Growing aware of the tightness in her throat, the dampness of her eyes, Sielaire swallows painfully and averts her gaze.

"Ma'am. Are you alright?"

Lips parting soundlessly, Sielaire glances back at the tent, and fear which has rooted her to the ground, suddenly pushes her away with an urgency burning deep within her chest. _A coward's fear,_ Sielaire recognises in the back of her mind, but it takes hold of her, and she surrenders.

"I–, I'll take a few with me…secure the area."

She sounds far away, lost, and Earilas frowns in concern. "Ma'am, you are in no condition to–" He seems to swallow his words when Sielaire shoots him a glare. "I am perfectly capable of that task. I will patrol, while you hold the fort."

"No." Sielaire's voice slowly regains strength. "I will patrol." She glances back at the tent, reluctance still biting deep. But her presence here will make no difference, for better or worse…

She shakes her head free of imagination before it turns darker. Drawing a breath, Sielaire squares her shoulders in a picture of false confidence. "Send the signal if…anything goes wrong."

Earilas looks at her longer, then nods. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Sielaire regrets her decision the moment she steps out of camp. The thought of Ayrenn lying amid a huddle of healers tears at her, and though Sielaire knows she cannot help in any way, the protective part of her _demands_ that she return to her Queen's side, to be close at hand for her beloved. But the choice is made, and Sielaire accepts the consequence of her impulsiveness, making the best of a flawed decision. She sets a modified patrol route to cover a larger area around the command camp, just in case the Redguards have sent spies to circle around where they expect a dead body to appear soon. She clenches her jaw at the thought, but it seems her caution is warranted, as she spots and chases away a few shadows in the distance – all of them too tall to pass as a creature.

Despite the sightings, their patrol ends on a peaceful note when night falls, though Sielaire's heart beats quicker as she hands the shift to the next commander. Her body still aches from wounds healed with her own spells, and her uniform is dirty from the day's battle, but Sielaire doesn't stop on her way towards the Queen's tent. The soldiers are going about their business as usual, which Sielaire takes to be a good sign, and she glances at the group smiling around a campfire before slipping through the tent flaps discretely.

In the darkness, Sielaire makes out the shape of Ayrenn lying in her bedroll, tucked in neatly by whoever had attended to her last. She lays a hand gently on top of the woollen covers, taking comfort in the slow rise and fall of Ayrenn's chest. Her wife is well. The revelation soothes the tension in Sielaire, who reaches for the lantern beside Ayrenn's bedroll, and lights it with a simple spark of flame from her fingertip. The candle catches and casts a dim glow, though Sielaire is satisfied that it won't disturb Ayrenn from her slumber. She looks back at her wife – and starts in mute surprise when she finds tired blue eyes gazing up at her.

"Renn," Sielaire whispers, bending down. "You were–, did I wake you?"

Ayrenn shakes her head, weak smile curving her lips to match Sielaire's. It's hard to see, but Ayrenn still appears pale beneath the warm light of the lantern, and she bears the lethargy to match her complexion.

"Do you need anything?" Sielaire strokes her cheek gently, and Ayrenn shakes her head again, leaning into Sielaire's touch.

Silence passes between them as Sielaire sates her wife with the simple caress, before Ayrenn draws breath audibly and says, "I thought I was going to…"

"No," Sielaire replies, a reflex too quick to catch.

Ayrenn looks up at her, smile growing lopsided. "And I didn't," she says simply, reaching up to curl weak fingers around Sielaire's wrist. "Thank you, my dear battlereeve."

 _You were hurt because of my inattention._ Buried guilt rises, but the apology catches in her throat, Sielaire knowing Ayrenn will rebuff it. So she settles for another soft smile, and bends down to kiss Ayrenn – once to comfort, twice to indulge. Despite Sielaire's grimy state, Ayrenn reaches up to clasp her nape and pull her closer, and they share another kiss before Ayrenn stops suddenly. Sielaire pauses, confused at her distraction, then remembers something when a mewl floats from the hood behind her head.

A thin, scruffy kitten pokes its head out from behind Sielaire's ear, clinging onto the mer's clothes with its claws so it won't fall off at that awkward angle.

"Oh, Sie," Ayrenn sighs. "Not another one."

Sielaire blushes, breaking into a sheepish smile. "Well…"

"Picking up random cats was what got you into trouble in Elsweyr back then." Ayrenn has to breathe twice in the sentence, but it doesn't deter her lecture.

"I'm pretty sure this isn't an Alfiq," Sielaire retorts, taking the kitten from her shoulder. "Hey, nod if you're an Alfiq."

The kitten meows in response.

Ayrenn heaves another sigh. "How did you even manage to find a housecat in the middle of a desert…"

"I don't know," Sielaire says, setting the kitten down. "But it was struggling so much, so I…"

"Of course you did," Ayrenn whispers, though a smile accompanies her exasperation. She watches Sielaire play with the kitten, and allows it to clamber onto her own shoulder.

Sielaire reaches out to pet it again, but stops when she glances at her armoured arm, reminded that she is still wearing her uniform. "I'll go wash up," she says. "Or my stink will rub off on you."

"Like marking territory."

She snorts. "There are better ways to do that," Sielaire says, then notices the sly smile growing on Ayrenn's lips, tired eyes coming alight with that playful glint. Sielaire knows her wife is merely teasing, but rolls her eyes anyway and adds, "Not until you're healed."

"Cruel," Ayrenn says with a pout, replaced by a smile when Sielaire gives her another kiss. "But I still love you."

Sielaire huffs. "I love you too."

* * *

Injury is never an easy thing to bear on the warfront. It demands more from oneself, especially from a queen who has to appear steadfast and strong before her soldiers. Having suffered such fatal wounds, Ayrenn has had no choice but to accept the healers' advice, and is confined to her bedroll for the first week. Not that she argues against it – though her punctured lung and severe internal bleeding have been mended by the most potent of healing spells, Ayrenn still feels lifeless, and has to exert too much energy just to breathe properly. Most of her time is spent drifting in and out of sleep, preferably in her wife's protective arms.

By the second week, however, Ayrenn feels that her time has run short, and she forces herself to her feet despite the healers' pleading. She nearly collapses on her first attempt, but Sielaire moves forward to grab Ayrenn's arm before she falls to her knees. Ayrenn's fingers slip between Sielaire's, gripping tightly as she commands the healers to work another spell on her, feeling the dangerous pull in her once-wounded muscles. She takes a deep, steady breath when the wave of bright golden light falls away, then smiles and gives her thanks, before releasing Sielaire's hand.

Queen Ayrenn lifts her chin and squares her shoulders, and walks out into camp dressed in simple tunic and pants, greeting soldiers who receive her presence with no small amount of relief and awe. No doubt they think the Queen has wrestled death and won, judging from the rumours Sielaire has relayed to Ayrenn, and she doesn't try to dispel that myth. Ayrenn smiles and laughs, walking among her troops until the world starting spinning around her, and she sweeps gracefully back into her tent – where she faints in Sielaire's waiting arms.

The strain upon her is immense, and it takes Ayrenn's sheer strength of will to keep herself on her feet, in a mortal struggle to appear immortal. But there is one silver lining to all this – the attentions of one battlereeve. Sielaire, who will always stay close after Ayrenn suffers so much as a simple blade stroke over her flesh, has become utterly inseparable from her. Even after Sielaire returns from a battle, bloodied and victorious, she insists on tending to a wife who has fretted in safety, callused hands handling Ayrenn as if she were priced porcelain.

Normally, Sielaire knows better than to place her wife on such a tall pedestal, but Ayrenn is inclined to indulge in Sielaire's need to provide care for now. She suspects she'd scared Sielaire half to death when she had sustained her injuries, and was left clinging onto Sielaire as she was carried back to safety. Ayrenn had been scared herself as well, believing that she was standing on death's doorstep, and in her dazed mind wanted only Sielaire to be the last thing she saw, before her soul departed Mundus. Perhaps Sielaire had seen her fear and resignation, and believed Ayrenn's end was nigh?

No matter. The past has gone, and now Ayrenn finds ample joy in Sielaire's soft kisses and caress, quelling her wife's remnant fears through warmth on skin. Nothing brings her so much joy as the simple, encompassing love she shares with Sielaire amid the grim uncertainty of war, and Ayrenn is thankful she's had the foresight to wed her love before joining the battle herself. But there is still one thing that bothers her, which Ayrenn hides behind a benign smile as Sielaire kisses her hand in farewell.

A month has passed while the Queen recuperated in camp, leading the Dominion from the war table, or by proxy of Razum-dar in battle, who wore a glamour in Ayrenn's guise to strike fear in Redguard troops who'd believed her dead. It had all gone smoothly, but Ayrenn has decided enough is enough – the Queen shall return to battle, personally.

In the security of the Queen's tent, Ayrenn steals one last caress over Sielaire's cheek, before the battlereeve steps back, placing that unspoken distance between them. Sielaire's stoic mien replaces all softness from her expression, save for her eyes, which linger on Ayrenn before she strides out of the tent first. Ayrenn takes a breath, then follows her out as well, walking to the cleared area in camp where the Fury's Wings are waiting by their steeds.

They've crafted a plan to lay siege on Hammerfell's largest field camp, the last obstacle standing between them and the city of Alik'r, and Sielaire's dragoons have been tasked to launch a surprise attack from the flank. Due to the Redguard's meticulous patrol routes over the deserts, Sielaire has to lead her dragoons to a safe spot far from their target, and even farther away from the Dominion army, where they will lay wait until the assault begins. Sielaire will be separated from Ayrenn for a few days at least, and when they next meet, it'll be in the thick of battle with their lives at risk once more.

Ayrenn feels a twinge at the thought, but restrains herself as Sielaire checks the harness on her horse, and the packs of supplies it carries. Then the battlereeve turns around, face straight, and knocks a fist over her heart in salute – such a perfect picture of a proud, professional commander, that it snaps Ayrenn's will to pretend any longer.

"Sielaire," Ayrenn says, taking her by surprise when she reaches for the saddle.

Sielaire turns back to Ayrenn, and doesn't have time to react before Ayrenn reaches for her nape, guiding her in for a gentle kiss. Ayrenn feels Sielaire's surprise in the stiffness of her lips, gifted with the favour of the Queen in plain sight of their soldiers. Sielaire's lips tremble in a brief moment of indecision – so much like her uncertainty in their very first kiss – before pressing back to Ayrenn's.

The kiss is brief, but deep enough to leave Ayrenn weak when they part. She looks up into verdant eyes, and is thoroughly amused by the stunned gaze fixed on her.

Raising her hand to cup Sielaire's cheek, she says, "Go with the grace of Auri-El, beloved."

Sielaire's lips part, but no reply comes. It only amuses Ayrenn even more, as Sielaire jerks her head in a nod, then climbs onto her horse as if in a daze. The battlereeve sits motionless in the saddle for a few moments, before barking out a command – a chorus of leather and steel, then a roar from the Wings answers her. Another command from Sielaire, and the Wings stream out from camp at a healthy gallop. Sielaire steers her horse after her soldiers, going off at a slower trot. She casts one last glance back at Ayrenn, who gives her a nod, before she turns her gaze to the front and takes off along with her dragoons.

Ayrenn watches them for a while, before turning to walk back into camp, purposefully avoiding the curious stares that follow her. She nearly breaks into a grin, feeling pleased after her audacious claim on the battlereeve, but she's saved from the effort of self-control when Razum-dar sidles up beside her.

"Well," Raz purrs, voice low so they won't be overhead as they walk to the command tent. "If our foes start targeting Sie…then we'll know there are spies among us."

Ayrenn's heart drops – she _has_ painted a target on Sielaire's back.

Damn it. _Damn it!_

She nearly yells aloud in vexation, but settles for clasping both hands behind her back, one clenching the other so tightly it hurts. Ayrenn takes a breath, and composes herself. "Just as well," Ayrenn replies, in the most casual tone she can muster. "Then you'll know where to start investigating."

"Oh, you're going to work this old cat to death," Raz laments, throwing his hands up.

"You're not that old yet, Raz," Ayrenn points out, regarding her friend with fondness. "And you're not allowed to die on me just yet."

Razum-dar chuckles, tail flicking approvingly behind him. "Raz wouldn't dare dream of it, my Queen."

* * *

The day's battle is won, though not before it has left its mark on both the Queen and her battlereeve. Ayrenn has suffered a few sword strokes over her arms and torso, while Sielaire bears many more all over her body. But they've both rejected the healers' attention, insisting that they tend to the severely-injured first. Sielaire cleans and binds Ayrenn's wounds herself, then lets Ayrenn tend to her as well. And when they've tidied up well enough, they don't take a moment to rest just yet. Instead, they meet a certain Khajiit spymaster behind the camp, where he waits with a backpack on his shoulders, ready to travel in preparation for their last and most important battle in Hammerfell.

"Be careful, kitten," Razum-dar says, as Ayrenn releases him from the hug. "Don't take unnecessary risks, and don't overtax your wife. She's taken enough damage protecting you."

"I know, Raz. Don't need to guilt me anymore," Ayrenn huffs.

"Sometimes, you need it," Raz sighs, clasping Sielaire's hand in farewell. "Now, Raz really needs to go. He's overstayed here…and sneezing quite a bit. Cariel must be cursing his name already."

Raz grins and tosses a casual salute, turning away to start his march into the deserts. Sielaire watches him go, concerned that he's setting on a trek in the dark of night, though she knows he's capable of traversing these deserts, which are similar to the sands in his homeland.

She smiles faintly, remembering Raz's casual reassurances, before thoughts of the Khajiit is banished when Ayrenn reaches for her hand. Sielaire looks to her wife, who tilts her head and starts leading the way back to camp, their steps slow and unhurried. She finds solace in Ayrenn's simple touch, and is reluctant to let go as they near the lighted vicinity of the Dominion camp – that's when she remembers, a question she has forgotten from a week ago.

"Renn," Sielaire says, and Ayrenn slows to a stop, looking at her curiously. "About…" She nods at the camp, and adds, "Us. What you did?"

Ayrenn smiles, catching her meaning. "Now they know."

"But–," Sielaire stutters. "You cannot afford to…"

"I can. And I have." Ayrenn looks at her with such resolve, that Sielaire is ready to give in. "I have chosen you, Sie. I will have no one else." She takes Sielaire by the hands, and tugs her close. "I love you with all my heart, and I won't hide it any longer."

Sielaire averts her eyes briefly. "It may not be the wisest move."

Ayrenn gazes at her in silence, then arches a brow playfully. "To let them know I'm taken? Why, Sie... Do you want them to think I'm still available?"

Green eyes snap back to her. "No," Sielaire says quickly, though she grows quiet in thought. "But I don't want to jeopardise your position."

"You won't, Sie. I promise."

Though Ayrenn is confident, Sielaire's soft gaze is still tinged with resignation, and a hint of doubt. Breathing a sigh, Ayrenn cups her cheek, and presses a kiss to Sielaire's lips. Her wife returns the kiss gladly, strong arm circling around Ayrenn's waist, pulling her close so they stand chest-to-chest, kiss deepening with a tilt of Sielaire's head. Ayrenn starts to melt under the firmness of Sielaire's kisses, and whines under her breath when her wife pulls away, drawing a smile from Sielaire.

"I know you well enough by now," Sielaire says softly. "You'll tell me you have a plan for this. But you really don't, do you?"

"No," Ayrenn admits. "I know many things, Sielaire. But not all. And I don't know what may come of this, but I have vowed to let nothing tear you away from me." She takes a breath, knowing how empty her words feel despite its weight. "Trust in me, Sie. Please."

"I do," Sielaire replies, a gentle curve on her lips. "I do trust you."

Ayrenn laughs under her breath, relieved. "Even if you know I have no plan?"

"I am quite the fool, it seems," Sielaire sighs.

"A fool in love," Ayrenn croons, kissing her once more. "But aren't we all?"


	24. Chapter 24

Though the Queen has returned to the Summerset Isles, her work is not yet done. Indeed, since Queen Ayrenn has returned from Valenwood and Elsweyr, and announced the formation of the Aldmeri Dominion, her subjects have risen with hundreds of questions and protests, eager for answers from their sovereign or the newly-appointed Proxy Queen. Leaving the Court of Alinor in Alwinarwe's capable hands, Ayrenn has traveled to Sunhold, where she will convene with the reigning Kinhouse to win their favour – and in turn, the support of Summerset's vaunted navy.

As in Alinor, the nobles of Sunhold assemble daily in the castle, where Ayrenn tends patiently to her subjects' concerns. On occasion, Sielaire's had the chance to witness these 'discussions' herself, and she is glad that her place is not in the throne. The nobles clamour over one another for Ayrenn's attention, and barely give her enough time to speak before another voices their opinion. It is quite a madhouse in there, of such a level of chaos Sielaire has never once seen in King Hidellith's reign. It makes her worry for the Queen – though not as much as she pities the free spirit that is Ayrenn. To be trapped in a stagnant position with little progress must be maddening for her.

Despite the thought, Sielaire can't help but smile subtly to herself, gazing at the castle from where she stands at the docks. Ayrenn had seemed on the verge on punching the wall last night, while venting her frustrations behind closed doors, but stopped herself with a brief punch on her temples instead. Sielaire had grabbed her wrists out of reflex, drawing an amused chuckle from Ayrenn. Then she slipped her hands smoothly to Sielaire's head, and matters of state were left to rest for the night.

Sielaire wonders how Ayrenn is holding up in the castle, before she's distracted by the approach of one captain from Sunhold's navy. She looks to him in silent question, and is satisfied by the nod and the sheaf of papers he hands to her – documents approving the deployment of troops to mainland Dominion territories by sea, Sielaire's dragoons included. If anything, this demonstrates the navy's willingness to follow the Queen, even if the aristocrats want to play a round of politics first.

Returning the captain's salute, Sielaire tucks the documents away in the scroll case on her belt, and winds her way towards the castle. Though it's a little early, Sielaire is gratified to find her soldiers already gathered at the courtyard, ready to receive the Queen when she emerges from the morning session. She takes time to chat quietly with Earilas, then checks some of her new recruits over, before the Queen walks through the polished double doors of the castle's main hall. The soldiers snap a sharp salute in unison, though the Queen is still engaged in deep conversation with the Kinlady. Sielaire gestures for the soldiers to relax, and waits while Ayrenn bids farewell to the Kinlady for the moment.

She moves up, ready to fall in behind the Queen as Ayrenn walks down the marble stairs, but her plan to escort the Queen to her quarters is thrown for a loop when Ayrenn speaks to her.

"I wish to take a stroll outside the city – with a light guard."

Tenderness which she felt at Ayrenn's appearance is shot through with momentary protest – which she doesn't voice. A 'light guard' means Ayrenn wishes to be alone, with as few soldiers following her as possible. Sielaire takes a breath and sighs discretely.

"Yes, Your Grace," Sielaire says, receiving a knowing smile in response. Ayrenn is well aware of how Sielaire feels about her whims, and seems to take much pleasure in ruffling her trusted battlereeve's feathers.

Biting down a burgeoning smile of her own, Sielaire turns away and motions curtly for a reduced guard to follow her, while the rest take up lookout positions around the city. As her soldiers disperse, Sielaire bows her head to the Queen, and follows Ayrenn as she takes a side path to the northern gates of the city, entering the tamed wilds of the outskirts. Ayrenn heads into the woods just beside Sunhold's walls, and her guards spread with another gesture from their commander, leaving Sielaire to accompany Ayrenn.

The Queen walks with hands clasped behind her back, then slows down to be at Sielaire's side. "Tell me," Ayrenn says. "What are the people's true feelings towards the Dominion?" When Sielaire cocks her head, Ayrenn adds, "What do they say about it when they feel safe from the Queen's ears?"

"Ah." Sielaire ponders her answer. "They are as divided as the voices in your court, though they lack the power to do much."

"Hm." Ayrenn lets out a breath. "Do you think they'll come around?"

"Given time, yes. Until then, obedience will have to suffice."

Ayrenn laughs quietly. "A blunt answer. Thank you." She raises her eyes towards the sparse canopy in thought. "What about you, Sielaire? How do you feel about it? Will the Dominion work?"

"I suspect true cohesion will not occur for a long while yet. But it's a noble goal, and worth working towards."

Ayrenn smiles. "And your less official answer would be?"

Sielaire winces. She has tried to be honest, though not enough for Ayrenn's taste, it seems. A slight moment of hesitation, then she replies, "I'd like to believe in it, that it shall succeed. But…"

"Many things are still uncertain," Ayrenn finishes for her, and she nods. "I understand. The Dominion is a gamble, but one we must take nonetheless. We are too few to stand alone, and with a goal like the Ruby Throne...we need every resource we can acquire. I just hope we can keep it together until the end."

"It will take much, but I think you can make it work."

Ayrenn turns her eyes to Sielaire in silent scrutiny. "I'm not so naive to think I can hold it together by myself. But with more like you and Alwin, perhaps."

The sentiment gives Sielaire pause, and as she parts her lips, Ayrenn clasps her hand briefly, grazing a thumb over her fingers. She stares back into the soft gaze, and squeezes Ayrenn in return before the Queen releases her. Sielaire laments the parting, feeling the loss of her lover's warmth, but doesn't reach for Ayrenn. After all, they are not quite alone.

Turning back to the front, Ayrenn continues walking with the battlereeve at her side. "There's so much more to do, Sielaire. But for now, will you walk with me?"

"As always, Your Grace."

* * *

If there is anything Ayrenn cherishes, it is the company of the people she trusts. It's evident in her openness around Alwinarwe, even though her cousin possesses a more stoic and solemn nature. It's in her ease around Razum-dar, a trusted confidant whom she does argue with frequently. For Sielaire, it's the private moments Ayrenn steals to be with her, and the standing invitation for Sielaire to visit at night, be it for companionship or more intimate pleasure. Sielaire reads it in the softness of Ayrenn's caress, the fingers twined with her own as her lover falls asleep.

That is a reason why, with doubt still dogging her thoughts, Sielaire shows up at Ayrenn's quarters almost every night, if only to share quiet company.

Sielaire looks up from her clipboard, quill coming to a stop in her hand as she watches Ayrenn working at the desk, with her head resting in one hand, fingers threaded through blonde hair in frustration. The quill in Ayrenn's grip scratches sharply in a straight line, then continues inking the draft of a document below. Sielaire moves her gaze from the quill to Ayrenn's frown, looking ever more severe under the flickering light of the lamp, and she resists the urge to kiss it away. Ayrenn doesn't need the distraction for now, she knows, and turns back to the clipboard resting on her lap.

Leaning further into the sofa's plump cushions, Sielaire returns to the letter she's penning for her family. With Ayrenn occupied by last minute issues, Sielaire had tried to entertain herself with the books in Castle Sunhold's study, but found their subjects utterly dreary. So she decided to tackle one task which she has held off for the longest time.

Tapping the quill's feather on the parchment, Sielaire struggles to find the words which seem to come with much difficulty. It always has. After all, how does one justify a prolonged, _willing_ absence? Her mother has always lamented her distance, even though Lirinwe knows Sielaire's heart is in the right place. Guilt makes it hard to craft explanations, so does Sielaire's reluctance, but the proximity of a certain other is a bigger distraction indeed.

Sielaire's lips curve in a smile when Ayrenn comes to sit with her, bringing Sielaire's half-hearted writing to a stop. Cupping Sielaire's face, Ayrenn first kisses her cheek, then her lips. Sielaire returns the kiss gladly, and winds an arm around Ayrenn's shoulders as her partner snuggles up to her. She sets the clipboard face-down on the couch, but not before Ayrenn catches a glimpse of the neat, though scant few script on the parchment.

"What are you writing?"

"A letter home."

"Ah. Missing your family?"

Sielaire shrugs. "It's been a while. Just thought I'd let them know I'm still around."

"How practical," Ayrenn laughs. "How long has it been since you've gone home?"

She counts the months in her head. "Over a year… Close to two."

Ayrenn's eyes grow distant in thought. "Just before my coronation."

"Yes."

"Is it because of me, Sielaire?" Ayrenn asks, half in jest. "Have I been keeping you from home?"

"It's...my schedule." Sielaire tries to skirt around the truth. It _has_ been due to Ayrenn's coronation and her subsequent travels, that Sielaire's had to postpone her visit home. Not that she minds, but still.

"Me, then."

"Not just you," Sielaire says sheepishly. "I do tend to...forget to go home once in a while."

Ayrenn chuckles, patting her on the chest. "Then I shall let you go when we're passing by Shimmerene. I'll linger for a few more days, give you some time to–"

"No!" Sielaire protests immediately, then catches herself. "No, that's not necessary."

Ayrenn gazes at her mute, pleading expression, then relents with a huff. She taps Sielaire on the nose, then rests her head on her lover's shoulder. Her fingers trail down to Sielaire's, which curl around hers instinctively, a warmth embracing the chill in Ayrenn's skin.

"You've talked so little about yourself, Sie," Ayrenn murmurs. "Tell me more. You grew up in Shimmerene? How big is your family?"

"Not really in Shimmerene, but a homestead near it." Sielaire strokes Ayrenn's hair with her fingertips, relishing in her lover's warmth resting against her.

She relaxes, and starts talking – of her parents, of her siblings, of the years she spent wandering alone and with compatriots. She speaks of the adventures she's had, the decisions she has made which led to her enlistment in the royal army, and eventually to Ayrenn.

* * *

The Queen spends over a week in Sunhold, and has garnered tentative support which may be discussed in Alinor's halls again. Despite what seems like a delicate rapport, all involved seem to find the outcome satisfactory, and Ayrenn isn't besieged by challenges in her last days of visiting Sunhold. Instead, the Kinlord and Kinlady showed their Queen the hospitality she deserves, and nearly gave Sielaire a heart attack when they jokingly offered Ayrenn a ride on the city's beloved gryphon. Ayrenn had turned the offer down with a laugh, then glanced at Sielaire with a smile, the battlereeve sighing _just_ visibly enough for the Queen to see.

On Ayrenn's last day in Sunhold, the Kinlord appears with his family to send the Queen off – an action which honours Ayrenn with their respect. They present rich gifts to the Queen in farewell, and though the items attract second glances from many in Ayrenn's entourage, Sielaire pays them no mind. In fact, Sielaire's attention is focused on one person only – the son of the Kinlord who bows smoothly to Ayrenn, with an easy smile on his lips.

"It has been an honour to have your gentle presence grace our humble halls, Your Majesty," the tall mer says. "If I may return the favour, and perhaps pay a visit to Alinor soon?"

The subtlety of Summerset nobility – Sielaire has long been accustomed to it, but this one display nearly makes her lips curl. One hand tightens over her own wrist behind her back, as Sielaire watches Ayrenn smile and accept his subtle compliment. Her heart nearly stops when Ayrenn parts her lips, but resumes beating upon hearing the reply.

"I would be glad for your visit, but I am afraid that chances are, you will find the Proxy Queen in my stead."

The mer receives the rejection with grace. "When luck is in my favour, then. I thank you, my Queen."

Sielaire breathes a discrete sigh, looking him over. He's surely younger than Sielaire, but among the long-lived mer, it is hard to tell apart a thirty or a hundred-and-twenty year old. Even so, he is the first to have dared…

She is shaken out of her brooding when Ayrenn turns around and catches her eye. Ayrenn raises a brow at her, and Sielaire stares back, confused at first, until she's aware of her own frown. She takes a breath to recompose herself, ignoring the heat gathering about her neck, and jerks her gaze away from Ayrenn. Sielaire bows slightly, then leads Ayrenn to her horse, helping the Queen onto her steed. Taking care not to meet Ayrenn's eyes, Sielaire walks away to mount her own horse.

At the Queen's command, the entourage starts down the main road leading away from Sunhold. Sielaire trails a distance behind Ayrenn, staring at the blue-and-gold clad back. She is shaken, and bothered that she is. The Kinlord's son had been a reminder, and Sielaire wonders just how she has let herself slip so. Ayrenn is the _Queen_ , for Auri-El's sake. Royalty sitting at the very top of Summerset's hierarchy. And Sielaire, sitting in the warmth of Ayrenn's shadow, has allowed herself to forget her own status. Ayrenn has responsibilities to bear, and there are those above who are more...fit to share the Queen's burdens.

A vice clamps about her heart, and Sielaire has to take a deep breath, wrenching her eyes away from Ayrenn. _You've reached too far._

Sielaire rides along in subdued silence, the murmurs and occasional laughs of her comrades barely making a dent in her consciousness. Though she tries to distract herself by listening to Earilas, the effort barely succeeds, and fails completely when Ayrenn turns around on her saddle, and waves Sielaire over.

"I wish to stop by Sil-Var-Woad for a few days," Ayrenn says when Sielaire reaches her. "To visit Lotus."

Sielaire cocks her head. "Lotus?"

"My indrik." Ayrenn smiles. "My father gave her to me, and I played with her so much when I was young." Her voice trails off in wistful recollection. "Do you think she'll recognise me after all these years?"

She waits for an answer, then frowns slightly when Sielaire's only reply is a distracted nod. "Sielaire? Are you alright?"

Sielaire blinks, realising her mind has wandered. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Ayrenn looks at her, unconvinced. "Are you sure? You seem...troubled."

"It's–, no. I'm not, Your Grace. Thank you," she adds, almost an afterthought. Sielaire meets Ayrenn's eyes, and feels a sudden urge to flee amid the awkward silence, her hand gripping the horse's reins tighter. "With your leave?"

Ayrenn stares at her longer, then nods.

Sielaire turns her horse around and returns to where Earilas had been riding beside her. He fixes her with a curious gaze, but before he can voice a question in concern, she interrupts.

"Plan for a detour to Sil-Var-Woad. Send half the Wings to Shimmerene to secure the roads and city. You will lead them."

"Yes, ma'am," Earilas replies dutifully.

* * *

Ayrenn doesn't let the matter rest, not that Sielaire has expected anything else. When they set up camp at night, a note finds its way into Sielaire's hand, just before she leaves to have a private walk in the nearby woods. She reads it, heart sinking at the fact that Ayrenn deems this note necessary, then destroys it with a simple flame spell. Waiting for a suitable lull in camp, when most are drowsy and inattentive, Sielaire skirts around the tents and slips into the Queen's quarters. Ayrenn is standing at her desk and looks up with what may be surprise, and Sielaire puzzles over her lover's expression as Ayrenn walks over, and draws her into a gentle kiss.

"Wine?"

Sielaire's surprised when Ayrenn says not what she has expected. But she takes comfort where she can and nods, accepting the glass which Ayrenn pours for her. She spends the night watching the Queen's face, half in admiration, half in dread, all in attentiveness. Sielaire speaks little, content to let Ayrenn lead, though her mild discomfort remains. And only when they've dressed down, Sielaire sitting in Ayrenn's open bedroll, waiting for her lover to join her, that Ayrenn gives voice to the one issue hanging in the air.

"Something is troubling you," Ayrenn says as she sits by Sielaire. "I can tell."

"It's not important."

"I'm here to listen."

Sielaire argues with herself, then settles for, "Thank you."

She doesn't speak further, and regrets when disappointment flits across Ayrenn's features. Sielaire averts her eyes, ready to make excuses to leave, reaching for her jerkin when a hand cups her cheek. She looks up, and meets the kiss Ayrenn presses to her lips. The familiar intimacy unravels her, and Sielaire kisses back, wondering when this will last. If there will be a last. And she knows she never wants there to be a last.

 _Gods above_ , is she falling in love? Has she thrown every bit of sense into the void, and dared lay claim on that which cannot be hers?

Ayrenn pulls away, and Sielaire ghosts her lips before looking up. She holds still under silent scrutiny, growing aware of each breath she takes, as Ayrenn's hand slides beneath the hem of her shirt. Sielaire merely stares the longer Ayrenn's gaze rests on her, and when the burning question has subsided, Ayrenn admits defeat. She leans forward to catch Sielaire's lips again, her partner responding in kind, reaching up to entwine her fingers with loose blonde tresses.

The tip of Ayrenn's tongue prods, then slips into Sielaire, and she surrenders. She yields to her Queen, to the hand pushing her down by the shoulder. Sielaire gazes up at Ayrenn, and with an ache in her chest, allows the Queen to take all of her in the next kiss.

* * *

Their journey through south-western Summerset is smooth, even peaceful. After a brief visit to Sil-Var-Woad, the entourage makes its way north, towards Shimmerene. It is in the city where the Queen lodges, and Sielaire takes time to finish her letter, passing it to a courier who will deliver it to her family's orchards, which is an hour's journey from the city. With her personal task complete, and official duties taken care of, Sielaire sets to wandering her hometown, strolling through the streets she would often take before. One thing interrupts her reminiscence though – and it's Razum-dar, who bumps into her as they round the same corner.

He appears ruffled – quite literally, as his fur is decidedly unsleek, red hair unkempt – but he greets Sielaire amicably and invites her for a drink, to her surprise. They're not quite familiar with each other yet, despite having travelled with Ayrenn together, though they do respect each other as the Queen's agents. So Sielaire accepts his offer, and decides to follow the Khajiit through the city, where he earns a few glances from its Altmer inhabitants as he strolls down towards the docks, and buys two bottles of beer from a stall.

Razum-dar hands one bottle to Sielaire, but nods his head towards the side – they're not done walking yet. She follows him to the beach beside the docks, which is quite popular for a night-out among citizens seeking some quiet away from the city. Razum-dar meanders to the grass bank lining the sand and plops himself down, taking a long swig of beer as Sielaire settles beside him.

"Raz will be honest and direct now, because he is too tired from chasing geese for the whole day," he rumbles. "Truth is, he has been waiting to speak with you for a long time. About Ayrenn," he adds, when Sielaire tilts her head.

She freezes, but forces herself to relax. Of course Razum-dar will know – he is Ayrenn's best spy, and her close friend. In turn, it means he will keep the affair secret as well.

"Yes?"

"The Queen is very dear to this one's heart. She is like a sister to Raz. If you dare hurt her in anyway, Raz will not hesitate to cut you down. Understand?" Razum-dar's gaze is uncharacteristically serious, but then an impish glint appears in his eyes. "Aside from the…little arguments, whatever. Catch his drift?"

"Yes. I will never hurt her," Sielaire replies. For one, she is relieved to know Ayrenn has someone else looking out for her – out of love. For another… "Has she said anything? Recently?"

"Oh, no. But Raz can read people very well. And that kitten? Especially well." He takes another draught of beer, while Sielaire drinks a mouthful to soothe her nerves. "She's had her eye on you for the longest time. And he doesn't think she'll be looking away any time soon."

Sielaire glances at him, a hint of doubt keeping her from accepting that affirmation. "You mean…"

Razum-dar cocks a brow at her. "She cares for you. Surely you can see that?"

"I–, well–"

"Oh, right," he drawls, leaning back on one hand. "Raz forgets. Altmer are the densest of all mer. Forgive his lapse, battlereeve." He chuckles when Sielaire clicks her tongue at him. "But – he is being serious now – do not take her feelings lightly. When she has chosen, she _has_ chosen."

"She can choose much better," Sielaire lets slip, and regrets it the second after, wishing to bury her head in the beach's sands.

Razum-dar falls silent for a moment, then shakes his head. "Let's just say this – Ayrenn tends to make choices which are...for good. Yes, she may make some decisions brashly. But she makes them with a heart most true. And what she chooses, _will_ stay as her chosen. Understand?"

"This...won't serve her best."

"Maybe, maybe not." Razum-dar shrugs. "But there is no swaying her from anything. And if Raz guesses correctly, there will be no swaying her from this – ever."

Arguments rise to Sielaire's throat, but remain unspoken as she stares back at Razum-dar. Her heart is slowly tearing itself in two from indecision, and she nearly cries a note of frustration, when reprieve is delivered in the approach of a young Altmer child. No more than five, Sielaire guesses as the girl walks up to them, with a basket of flowers in hand.

"Flowers for you, sir?" the girl asks, holding the basket out to Razum-dar, then to Sielaire. "Or your lady?"

Sielaire chokes on the air she breathes, and quickly hides her reaction behind a hand, while Razum-dar belts out a deep laugh.

"Oh, she is no lady of mine, dear girl," Razum-dar says. "But, all ladies do deserve to be pampered. How much for the whole basket?"

The girl's eyes grow round, before she stutters, "Thirty gold."

Razum-dar reaches for his belt pouch and retrieves a large handful of coins, putting it into the basket. But when she holds the basket up to him, he merely peers in with a thoughtful hum, then takes half of the stalks.

"The rest are for you, little lady." Razum-dar winks, and a smile sits on his face as the girl gives her thanks and skips away. Then he turns to Sielaire, handing the flowers over. "Here, Ayrenn likes these."

"What?" Sielaire clutches at the flowers when Razum-dar thrusts them into her hands. "I–"

"She likes them, so give them to her. Trust Raz. He will never lead you astray." He pats at his chest, then rises to his feet. "And if you feel embarrassed, just say Raz gives them to her. But only as a last resort, alright?"

Sielaire grumbles under her breath, drawing another chuckle from Razum-dar, before he strolls off with his tail swaying behind him.

And she does give Ayrenn the flowers that night, the smile on her lover's face well-worth her slight embarrassment in front of Razum-dar, many times over.


	25. Wanderlust - 21

Hands resting on the window sill, Ayrenn gazes at the orchards before the cottage, just barely making out shapes of individual apple trees under the dim moonlight. The workers have long retired to their quarters for the night, but her sharp eyes follow an indistinct shape still moving among the trees – Sielaire's younger brother, she suspects. And sure enough, Virano emerges from his beloved orchard soon after, smoothing back his blond hair as he steps into the light of the streetlamps lining the main road.

A huff passes Ayrenn's lips as he enters the cottage without looking up. Virano spends much of his time occupied with the orchards, and it's a favourite complaint of Sielaire's – that her brother has somehow been captivated by that which had driven her from home in the beginning. She doesn't mean it, of course; the three siblings make a hobby of picking on one another's chosen careers, and seem to thoroughly enjoy bickering over it. Honestly, Ayrenn enjoys watching them as well – Sielaire, in particular. Her wife adopts a carefree and youthful mien with her siblings, so much unlike the stoic and grave battlereeve who'd accompanied Ayrenn in her campaign across Tamriel. It sets Ayrenn's heart at ease – the war hasn't taken so much from the battlereeve that she has lost touch with who she truly is, deep down, unmarred by suffering.

Taking a breath, Ayrenn exhales slowly and pushes away from the window sill. She turns around to look over Sielaire's spacious bedroom, and strolls to the shelves set by the study desk. One is a bookshelf filled with tomes that have barely seen use for years, while the other two have glass display windows for its upper shelves. Ayrenn peers in, looking with interest at the magnificent model of a swan ship on the top shelf, complete with miniature sailors dressed in the colours of Summerset's navy. Her eyes rove over the intricate details carved into the ship, admiring its stunning accuracy, before turning to the rest of the collection.

Ayrenn can guess where a few items came from, like the short sword with the Fighters Guild emblem embossed on its sheath, magically-preserved roses from Archon's Grove which Sielaire is fond of, and the lacquered feathers Virano has given Sielaire over the years – two of which have found its way onto her hair tie, a reminder of home that she's worn throughout the war.

The rest of the items, though, are not as telling. There is a book of poems, a fine ruby necklace, and an untouched bottle of perfume which matches the green of Sielaire's eyes. There are a few figurines of cats – in wood, glass, and even silver – and Ayrenn is just pondering the life-like amethyst eyes of the glass cat when the door swings open. Sielaire walks in with a towel hung around her neck, and she reaches for the back of her head, letting her hair down from its messy knot. She sighs softly as she tosses the towel onto a chair, and looks into the mirror of her dresser, touching idly the scar on her mouth before she realises Ayrenn is watching her.

She cocks her head, and Ayrenn merely smiles in reply, turning back to the display shelves.

"You can open them, you know," Sielaire says, walking over.

"Well, I don't know how particular you are about them." Ayrenn steps back to let Sielaire unlatch and open the glass windows. "You've quite a collection here."

Sielaire shrugs. "Just some stuff I've picked up over time. Some are gifts." She follows Ayrenn's gaze as it lands on the ship model, then takes a miniature sailor between her fingertips. "My grandmother gave this to me. Whenever we visited her in Sunhold, I'd always slip away to the docks and spend so much time staring at the ships… She gave me this so I wouldn't have to go to the docks all the time."

"That's sweet."

"I suppose." Sielaire lapses into thought as Ayrenn fiddles with the toy sailors as well. "Here, let me show you." She takes the sailors and lines them into a specific formation on the deck, and Ayrenn's eyes grow wide when an ocean-blue glow circles, then envelopes the ship, emitting the faintest hum which mimics the wash of waves on the hull. Light from the enchantment plays across the polished hull and its sailors, imitating the reflection of sunlight from the sea. "Nice, huh?"

"Yes, it is." Ayrenn leans closer with a smile. "She must've spent a small fortune on this."

"She did. Though I never understood why…" Sielaire's voice drifts away, before it returns as she taps one sailor on the head, a smile curving her lips. "I used to imagine I was one of them. Sailing across the waters, fighting sea monsters, rescuing ladies and cats in distress..."

Ayrenn laughs. "Cats?"

Sielaire's smile turns sheepish. "They hate water."

"Ah, of course." Ayrenn indulges in a few more laughs, then calms herself down with a deep breath. "So, did you ever want to be in the navy?"

Sielaire cocks her head. "For a time. Then I realised I'd be stuck on a ship, staring at the same scenery day after day. I couldn't bear the thought of it."

"Shame. You would've looked fantastic in a captain's coat."

"But I would've had the coat...and not you."

Ayrenn smiles. "Oh, Sie. If I saw you in that coat, I'd insist on traveling by ship everywhere."

Sielaire laughs, clutching her arms and pulling her close. "That would make things inconvenient, Your Grace."

"I'm sure you would've found a way, my dear Battlereeve," Ayrenn croons, pecking her on the lips.

"Perhaps," Sielaire humours her, kissing her once more before letting her go. She glances at the ship again, then turns away with a shrug. "But I have what I have now, and that's enough for me."

Ayrenn's heart grows so soft she nearly trembles, and she wonders how she's still standing with both feet swept so cleanly from beneath her. She watches as Sielaire flops onto her bed with a loud sigh, a small grin parting her lips as she lies atop the covers she's obviously missed. As Sielaire's eyes flutter shut in contentment, Ayrenn moves over and falls on top of her without ceremony. Sielaire breaks into a breathless laugh, wrapping an arm around Ayrenn as she presses a kiss atop blonde locks.

"I love you, Renn," Sielaire sighs.

"Love you too," Ayrenn murmurs, nestling her head in the curve of Sielaire's neck. She takes a breath of her beloved's floral-tinted scent, and knows Sielaire is right. This is more than enough.

* * *

"Ah, thank you, Lirinwe." Ayrenn accepts the cup of tea handed to her. "Or should I say, 'Mother'?"

Lirinwe's shoulders jerk as she tries and fails to hide a scandalised gasp. "Oh no, please. I am not your mother,"

"But I am marrying your daughter," Ayrenn points out, biting down a laugh.

"Yes, but I'll not risk having your mother roll in her grave, bless her soul." Lirinwe gestures in brief prayer as if to ward off bad luck, before pouring her own cup of tea and sitting with Ayrenn at the table. "Just Lirinwe, please."

"As you wish," Ayrenn replies gently, taking a sip of tea while Lirinwe recomposes herself. They're sitting in the parlour, sharing a pot of tea while the rest of the family is away. Erelmir and Virano have gone to Shimmerene on business, while Sielaire and Rilenya have hitched a ride with their father and brother, heading into the city for a walk. Ayrenn, for once, has passed up the chance to stretch her legs – but for good reason.

Lirinwe takes two slow sips of tea. "Sielaire tells me you'll travel before returning to Alinor?"

"Yes. We'll enjoy our freedom before the coronation." Ayrenn smiles when the reminder sinks into Lirinwe, bringing them closer to the subject she wishes to discuss.

"I suppose this is the only chance you'll have," Lirinwe concurs. She indulges in more tea – mostly to soothe her nerves, Ayrenn observes in the stiff manner she drinks. "Then...after coronation, Sielaire will be…"

"She will be officially recognised as my consort, yes."

Lirinwe stares at her, though this time her gaze is a tad sharper, and Ayrenn readies the answers she has prepared. "Ayrenn, I don't want to seem rude, or negative. But are you sure–?"

"Yes," Ayrenn replies without hesitation. "But I understand that you may have concerns."

"I do. I mean, it's a fact that Sielaire is not of the aristocracy. I don't see how she will be accepted as your consort by the Court. And, even if she is, you will be expected to produce an heir – which Sielaire cannot give you."

"Both questions which have troubled me so," Ayrenn says, keeping a smile on her lips. "But you can rest assured, Lirinwe. I have made plans to overcome these obstacles."

"They will make things...unnecessarily difficult."

"They do," Ayrenn admits with a sigh. "Nevertheless, I won't allow them to stand between me and Sielaire." She falls silent after that, to gauge Lirinwe's reaction. But when the matron adopts a stoic expression so much alike her daughter's, one difficult to read, Ayrenn continues, "I love Sielaire, Lirinwe. She has stood by me for all these difficult years, and I cannot imagine a future without her. Not one where my heart is whole, anyway."

Ayrenn smiles when Lirinwe breaks into a soft laugh. "And, to be perfectly blunt with you, I don't care what stands between us. I will be with Sielaire, one way or another. Anyone who disapproves can kiss my...shoe," Ayrenn corrects herself at the last second, but it seems unneeded, as Lirinwe bursts into a hearty laugh.

"Oh," Lirinwe says, calming herself down with much effort. "Just where have I heard that before?"

Ayrenn can't help but chuckle along with Lirinwe's apparent amusement. "Where?"

"Has Sielaire ever told you about my marriage to Erelmir?"

"Vaguely." Ayrenn shrugs. "Apparently you married down, and it strained relations with your family."

"Yes, that's it. They wanted me to marry into this Kinhouse with holdings all across Summerset, and bring more prestige to the family. But no, I was in love with the most handsome, charming apple farmer, and wanted no one else but him."

"But Erelmir has made a name for himself," Ayrenn says. "And every profession is honourable with the right amount of dedication."

"Yes, but see. He was a nobody back then. Compared to my prospective suitor, Erelmir was lacking. Very lacking. My family tried so hard to keep him away, but I declared I would marry him, and they could…kiss my shoe if they were unhappy about it." Lirinwe laughs, softer this time, and gazes out the nearest window. "It got so tense, even Erelmir tried to back out. He said even if we couldn't be together, he would still love me from afar. Can you believe that man? I told him, he could either marry me, or give up any thoughts of me for the rest of his life. So he got down on one knee."

Lirinwe shakes her head, as if still in disbelief, then looks at Ayrenn when the younger mer starts laughing by herself.

"Sie takes after her father then. She told me the same thing – that she'll love me from afar – but I talked her into wearing the ring."

Lirinwe smiles, then bites on her lip. She rests a hand over Ayrenn's. "It will be difficult, Ayrenn. Even more so in your station. You do understand that?"

"Yes, I do." Ayrenn clasps onto Lirinwe in return. "But I will see us through. And I'll keep Sielaire safe, no matter what comes of this. This I swear to you." She holds Lirinwe's gaze steadily, until the matron nods in satisfaction. And as Lirinwe leans back in her seat, Ayrenn says, "Now, about the Queen marrying 'down'...I plan to solve that issue soon. How do you feel about being nobility once more?"

Lirinwe chokes on her tea.

* * *

Though Shimmerene's port is smaller than Sunhold's, it sees an equivalent amount of traffic on its docks, owing to its direct sea route to Skywatch in Auridon. Instead of official navy activity, Shimmerene receives mostly merchant vessels seeking to trade in Summerset's most open market, or the occasional outlander who seeks permission to stay and make a life among the Altmer. As a result, Shimmerene's population is the most diverse in the Summerset Isle, which has in turn influenced the types of goods sold in its market, even if the insular culture of local Altmer remains untouched.

It is the reason why Ayrenn likes Shimmerene most of all – nowhere else in Summerset can she find her favourite Khajiiti wine, even though any trace of moon sugar has been regulated out of the port by strict Altmer laws. Even so, Ayrenn is glad to spot bottles of the wine on sale at a stall, and she drifts away from Sielaire to purchase a bottle. She greets the merchant in Ta'agra, taking him aback, and they draw curious glances from passing Altmer as they engage in light-hearted bargaining in the Khajiit tongue. Ayrenn impresses the merchant enough that she ends up with one bottle at a discount, and two free cakes in a paper bag.

Restraining the urge to eat one cake while walking, Ayrenn steps back and looks around the market for her wife. It takes a bit of searching, as the market is slightly crowded, but Ayrenn soon spots the dark red hair of her wife, who has opted to go without disguise. She takes two steps, then slows down with a frown. Sielaire is standing in a quiet corner of the market, speaking with another Altmer under the shade of a blossom tree. The stranger stands so close to Sielaire that it borders on personal space, which she obviously doesn't care about, as her fingertips are ghosting over Sielaire's arm with an intimacy that makes Ayrenn want to swat her away. And Sielaire, though standing straight and respectable, makes no move to break away. In fact, Sielaire wears a comfortable smile as the private conversation goes on.

It sparks a hint of frustration in Ayrenn, but she composes herself. With deliberate steps, Ayrenn strolls over to the pair, and is the picture of casual curiosity as she winds an arm around Sielaire's – forcing the stranger to break away.

"I've been looking for you, darling. And who is this?" Ayrenn asks with a smile, meeting the stranger's pale golden eyes.

"Carilure, this is Aralinwe, my partner." Sielaire's hand rests on Ayrenn's, unknowingly soothing her wife. "Ara, Carilure. We...knew each other."

" _Very_ well," Carilure adds, looking Sielaire over slowly, before doing the same to Ayrenn. "A pleasure to meet you, Aralinwe."

"The pleasure is all mine," Ayrenn replies amiably, though she'd find greater pleasure in pushing Carilure off the docks. With a smile plastered on her face, Ayrenn scrutinises Carilure's countenance, and admits that she is disarmingly beautiful _. Alluring_ , with pale wavy hair to match her eyes, and full lips which seem seductive even in a simple smile. _Sie knows how to pick them_ , Ayrenn thinks drily.

The two mer hold each other's gazes long enough to make Sielaire tilt her head, before Carilure turns back to her. "Will you be staying in Shimmerene for long, Sie?"

"No, we're just visiting. Maybe another week or two, then we'll be back on the roads."

"Ah. You still have that wandering soul, then." Carilure smiles sweetly. "Are you traveling around Summerset?"

"First, yes. Then wherever the roads lead us."

"I see." Carilure's eyes flicker to Ayrenn, and a smirk lifts the corner of her lips. "Are you planning to make a trip by Lillandril before you depart? I remember those caves that were... _perfect_ for a rendezvous," she purrs, and her eyes rake over Sielaire again.

It takes every bit of Ayrenn's will to keep smiling when Carilure looks back at her, and they stare at each other with empty smiles in silent battle. But Ayrenn is distracted first, breaking eye contact when Sielaire's arm shifts beneath her fingers. She glances at Sielaire, noticing the tell-tale twitch in her wife's eye, then becomes aware of her nails digging hard into Sielaire's arm, causing her to flinch subtly. Gaze turning apologetic, Ayrenn lifts her nails and rubs at Sielaire's arm through her sleeve.

"It's been nice chatting with you, Carilure," Sielaire says, turning her gaze from Ayrenn. "But I'm afraid we'll have to take our leave now."

"Of course. I've some business of my own to attend. But if you ever have the time – you're always welcome for a visit at my place, hm?"

 _Over my dead body_. Ayrenn watches as Sielaire smiles, bowing her head in farewell when Carilure finally moves away. Ayrenn's eyes are fixed on that _annoying_ sway in Carilure's hips, before Sielaire leads her off in the opposite direction, walking down the marble-white steps to an empty pier. Ayrenn heaves a sigh, frowning at the deep blue waters before Sielaire's curious gaze catches her attention.

"You seem tense," Sielaire remarks.

"That's one way to put it," Ayrenn growls.

Sielaire laughs under her breath. "Don't take her seriously, Renn. She's just...like that."

Ayrenn scoffs, then tries to calm down with a deep breath...which fails. She casts her eyes around for a distraction, but can't seem to take her mind off the encounter. "So, the caves in Lillandril?"

"On the shore leading south from the city, actually," Sielaire clarifies. "It's a favourite meeting spot for young couples."

"Oh? Why?"

"It's dark...spacious. Has many private corners." Sielaire trails off in reminiscence. "Not...very soundproof, though."

Ayrenn coughs to hide a laugh when Sielaire looks a bit embarrassed. "Did you go there often?"

"I went...enough."

"Oh?' Ayrenn hums. "Maybe you should bring me there to have a look, hm?"

Sielaire's gaze snaps to her, frozen for a second, before she notices the impish smile on Ayrenn's lips. She huffs and relaxes. "Are you jealous, Renn?"

"No," Ayrenn says. "...Maybe."

She blinks when Sielaire comes to an abrupt halt beside her. Ayrenn stops as well, and Sielaire's fingers cup her chin, tilting her head up for a soft kiss.

"There's no need," Sielaire murmurs. "You know I'm yours."

"I know," Ayrenn replies, breathless under Sielaire's fond gaze. Though Sielaire has wound an arm around her waist, Ayrenn clutches onto her wife's shirt, just in case her weak knees fail her. "Still. I should find a way to mark you…"

Sielaire sighs, rolling her eyes. "Maybe you'll find one in Lillandril, then."

* * *

Though the fear of boredom and routine in mundane safety was what drove Sielaire to seek adventure, and she does find immeasurable comfort in her homestead, despite voicing flyaway complaints to make her brother's ears twitch. It's what she has needed for a long time as well, she'd realised after spending the first night at home. To have been away for so long, to serve in the Queen's service, to fight and bleed and dance with death in the battlefields of war, Sielaire has nearly forgotten that caution is not the default state of being. Not to be on alert, muscles always tensed for the next battle. But to be happy, lazy, immature, carefree – all emotions that were a luxury in war, are free for her to indulge once more.

A faint smile curves her lips, and Sielaire glances to her side, where Ayrenn walks hand-in-hand with her. Blue eyes catch her gaze, and Ayrenn cocks her head in curiosity. Sielaire replies with a smile, tugging her wife closer to wrap an arm around her waist.

She places a kiss on Ayrenn's temple. "It's been four days. Country life still not too boring for you?"

Ayrenn mirrors her soft smile. "No."

"Not yet."

Her wife laughs, a beautiful resonance in the quiet night air. "Most likely. You know me too well, love."

"All too well," Sielaire repeats drily. "I'll have to enjoy this peace and quiet before you start pulling me into all sorts of trouble again."

Ayrenn pinches her nose. "Come now, Sie. Be more positive about our honeymoon! It'll be fun. An adventure!"

"I am positive it will be…" Sielaire considers her words when Ayrenn raises her brows pointedly. "...interesting."

"To say the least," Ayrenn humours her.

Sielaire sighs, merely shooting her wife an exasperated look. But she softens when Ayrenn caresses the back of her hand with gentle fingertips, and Sielaire remembers why she'd suggested this night-out. She presses her fingers just a tad firmer against Ayrenn, feeling her wife's warmth through the thin shirt, as they stroll down the river near the orchards. They walk in comfortable silence all the way to Virano's cabin by the river, where they are greeted by two cats heading out for a night hunt. The cats chirrup in greeting when Sielaire rubs her foot against them, but otherwise ignore the mer as they stride into the woods, and will no doubt leave an offering at the door in the morning.

The cabin is well-kept as always, and empty – as Sielaire has intended. She locks the door behind her quietly while Ayrenn lights the fireplace with a lick of magic, then closes the distance, gripping her wife's arm and pulling her close. Ayrenn looks up at her in surprise, but a crooked grin parts her lips just before Sielaire catches her in a kiss – hard enough to make Ayrenn groan in satisfaction. Sielaire's lick and bite on Ayrenn's bottom lip make her intent clear as they part.

"Someone's frisky," Ayrenn purrs, slinging both arms around Sielaire's neck.

"Someone wants to make a point," Sielaire says. She takes a step forward, making Ayrenn move backwards as well. "I can't believe how you were today."

Ayrenn chuckles. "She _was_ coming on rather strong…"

"She was," Sielaire admits with a laugh. "But still, you know how I feel."

"Of course I do, darling," Ayrenn replies, tongue flicking between her teeth. "But I think we'd both prefer a demonstration now, don't we?"

Another laugh deep in Sielaire's throat, and she closes the distance once more. Ayrenn's back hits the dresser as Sielaire kisses her, teasing and nipping until Ayrenn's fingers grip into her hair, forcing her to delve deeper. Sielaire relents, slipping into Ayrenn's mouth, then draws a whine when she pulls away all too quickly. She smiles at Ayrenn's pout, and sates her with another kiss before drawing her down to the floor, pushing her back onto the cushions laid out by the fire. Sielaire covers Ayrenn's lips with her own, hand slipping beneath the hem of her wife's shirt, traveling ever slowly up soft and scarred skin, until a tug on her hair forces her to pull back and look down at Ayrenn.

"Won't your brother–?"

"I told them to stay away," Sielaire replies disinterestedly, pressing her lips to Ayrenn's flesh once more, this time trailing down her jaw and neck with exaggerated slowness.

"So you planned for this?" Ayrenn laughs.

"I've been waiting since we came here," Sielaire says, a devilish curve on her lips. She lifts her head, catching Ayrenn in another deep kiss. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to keep my hands off you in my own bedroom?"

" _Why_ were you even holding back?" Ayrenn breathes.

Sielaire smirks, and doesn't answer. Instead she lavishes Ayrenn with kisses, trailing her warm hands over Ayrenn's flesh, slowly divesting her wife of her clothes. Only when Ayrenn lies bare beneath her, does Sielaire pull her own shirt off, taking pleasure in Ayrenn's hungry gaze fixed on her muscular physique. She trails her fingers along Ayrenn's jaw, caresses her lips, then dips into her mouth where a slick tongue welcomes her. She lets Ayrenn suck on her digits for a few long moments, before pulling out.

"Truth is, Renn," Sielaire says, voice dipping to a lower timbre as she massages between Ayrenn's legs with damp fingers, and slips in with ease. "We are going to Lillandril."

She thrusts languidly, thumb rubbing against Ayrenn with a familiar pressure which makes her grow ever slicker around Sielaire's fingers. When Ayrenn's eyes have fluttered half-shut, Sielaire leans down to Ayrenn's ear, so close that her lips brush over sensitive skin as she speaks.

"And we need to practice," Sielaire purrs, low and hot. "Where only I can hear you scream."


	26. Chapter 26

With the Alliance War ended, the Dominion doesn't linger long in the frigid climes of Skyrim. When Ayrenn's main force has recovered sufficiently from the last, difficult stretch of their campaign, the Queen leads them on a homebound journey towards southern Tamriel. They cross the border into Cyrodiil, where they spend months on a steady march to Elsweyr, stopping at cities in their path for Queen Ayrenn walk among Imperial citizens. Though the Dominion forces are greeted with little warmth or cheer, it's only to be expected, and Ayrenn bears it with grace through the journey.

The warm sands of Anequina is a welcome sight at the end of their homeward march. Unlike in Cyrodiil, their presence is received with more cheer, and they make camp outside Riverhold where their Khajiiti troops eagerly head into town, to bask in the comfort of home once more. They stay for a few days, before resuming their journey southwards to the city of Corinthe, which straddles the border between Anequina and Pellitine. Queen Ayrenn has chosen Corinthe for an official visit due to its central location, where the leaders of Anequina and Pellitine can gather conveniently. She hopes to use this city in her future efforts to unite the two Khajiiti territories into one true kingdom, but it isn't a pertinent concern for the moment.

Corinthe, upon receiving word that Queen Ayrenn will be visiting after her successful campaign, has held no reservations in putting together a celebration in honour of the Dominion's victory. Royalty from both Anequina and Pellitine have gathered in the city, first to listen to the Queen's speech, then indulge in festivities and the sweet, _sweet_ feast.

Sielaire raises a hand and shakes her head politely when a tipsy Khajiit sidles up to her, offering a glass of moon sugar-infused wine. Obviously he hasn't picked up on the fact that she is armed and on duty, but he smiles good-naturedly and saunters off, drinking from the glass he'd just offered. Sielaire looks away as he blends into the crowd of guests milling around, then turns back to the tables set on a platform in the manor's courtyard. The nobility are still gathered there – Khajiit dressed in flowing robes speaking with Queen Ayrenn, who is adorned with similar robes tailored to her tall frame. As with the guests, the mood around the tables is jovial – especially after Ayrenn's promise of aid in post-war reconstruction.

Sielaire allows her gaze to linger on Ayrenn's joyful expression, before focusing on the guests again. Though the war is over, the Queen's safety cannot be taken for granted. So she stands at vigil in a corner of the courtyard, watching as the night grows merrier with the help of food and drinks infused with moon sugar. Then the musicians start strumming their zithers and beating their drums, and Sielaire's job is made more difficult when the guests spring towards the dance floor.

It's mostly Khajiit who first warm the carpet with jaunty, agile steps, before the rest gather their courage to imitate their graceful feline companions. There is a fleeting pause in the throng when Ayrenn rises from her seat as well, and surprises the Khajiit with her proficiency at their dance, robes flowing behind her figure with immeasurable elegance. The Khajiit smile and laugh with the Queen, and soon they've gathered around her, swaying and twirling in harmony.

"She is pretty good, isn't she?" Sielaire hears two Khajiit guests whisper to each other. "So graceful with a tail-less posterior."

Sielaire has to bite on her bottom lip to stop the laugh from escaping, and her eyes seek Ayrenn out once more, resting a long while on the posterior which has been deemed graceful by Khajiiti standards. Her gaze returns to Ayrenn's face, alit by the bright glow of torches and the bright grin on her face, which masks any trace of exhaustion Sielaire knows she feels from the months of travel.

She stares at the young Queen as she twirls and glides smoothly over the carpet, entranced by the fluid movements...until she notices a slight shuffle right beside her. Sielaire turns her head, and is startled by the sight of her lieutenant standing beside her. She jumps a step back, but gathers herself and straightens her shoulders, frowning when Earilas smiles playfully at her.

"Distracted, ma'am?"

Sielaire clears her throat, fighting the urge to glance back at the dance floor. "Report, Earilas."

"I mean, I can't blame you. If that's my partner, I would also stare without noticing my lieutenant's been standing here for ten minutes…"

She shoves her elbow into Earilas' ribs. "Report."

"You're still smiling, by the way."

Now aware of her own affectionate smile, Sielaire purses her lips together. "Report, Earilas, or I'll have you scrubbing the entire city's latrines."

Earilas chuckles, then clasps both his hands behind his back, standing at ease. "Sweep is done, ma'am. Nothing out of the ordinary. I've assigned patrol routes for the night, and coordinated with the Eyes to cover every inch of the city. We're as safe as can be."

Sielaire nods. "Good. You're dismissed. Join the celebrations, you've earned it."

"Thanks, ma'am." Earilas knocks a fist to his chest in a salute, then walks off with his eyes fixed on the wine keg.

Sielaire watches him go, then notices a pair of eyes beside a tree, glinting from firelight. She meets the Khajiit's gaze, but the young girl seems surprised by the attention and quickly scarpers off, running behind the throng of guests. Sielaire cocks her head when she loses sight of the girl, but shrugs off the odd encounter.

She turns back to the dance floor, where the dancers are taking a break during a brief lull between songs. Ayrenn catches her eye, and Sielaire forgets to breathe when the Queen smiles at her. Flicking the blonde locks from her face, which have fallen during the dance, Ayrenn winks before accepting the gracious hand of Pellitine's king, as the music starts up again.

Sielaire feels a desire to join Ayrenn, but takes a breath and calms down. _Focus_ , she reminds herself, determined not to lapse into another bout of silent adoration. And she doesn't – though a small smile remains on her lips for the rest of the celebrations.

* * *

As expected, Ayrenn's time in Corinthe barely gives her time to breathe. Even at the celebratory feast, Khajiiti nobles sought her out one after another, eager to know Elsweyr's place and role in the Dominion's future. Ayrenn welcomes their curiosity and enthusiasm, of course, but she finds herself yearning for some time alone. So she dons the enchanted earrings which masks her true hair and eye colour, and ventures into the city when the Queen has been declared indisposed for the day.

The city has calmed down after the celebrations, and resumed its daily routine, albeit with an underlying hum of excitement at the Queen's stay. Ayrenn takes the time to walk along the streets, noting the wear on the citizens and infrastructure, and signs of the war's strain on the city. It will be a long while before anyone recovers and rebuilds to their pre-war splendour, but there will come a time when her citizens have shaken off the ravages of war, and are able to live without fear. That, she promises herself.

She follows the roads aimlessly, then remembers that Sielaire is currently off duty as well. Ayrenn wonders where she can find her partner, but it doesn't take long to figure out. Sielaire has mentioned the childcare she's visited during her downtime, and sure enough, Ayrenn finds Sielaire playing with the kittens in its yard. The group is mostly tiny Alfiq children, who jump and swat at the scarf Sielaire dangles over them, while a few actual cat-kittens climb and clamber onto Sielaire's shoulders, meowing shrill and uncoordinated songs.

Ayrenn smiles, opting to watch from a distance for now. Sielaire seems like she's in paradise, lips parted in a chuckle as she dips and tugs her scarf above the kittens, causing them to jump one after another. When Sielaire has gone a few more rounds with the kittens, making them leap after the ever-elusive scarf, Ayrenn moves forward, bringing a momentary pause among the little ones. Their eyes leave the scarf and fix on Ayrenn as she sits down on dry soil, pecking Sielaire on the cheek before she smiles down at the kittens.

"Having fun?"

A chorus of high-pitched 'yeah' comes from the group.

"We're waiting for the rest–, here they are," Sielaire says, raising her head when the childcare's door opens, letting a larger group of Khajiit into the yard. Interestingly enough, instead of scattering in different directions, they make their way to Sielaire with comfortable familiarity.

"Hello, Sie," some of them say, and Ayrenn looks to Sielaire curiously.

"Hey," Sielaire replies, ruffling as many of their heads as she can reach. "What do you want to play today?"

"Ball!" One Dagi exclaims, holding up a ball of yarn in her hands.

"No, chase the tail!"

"I wanna play Alliances!"

"No, Sie hates that!" Another Khajiit replies, just as Sielaire's face scrunches up.

"So many different games," Ayrenn laughs, and the group falls silent, looking at the stranger. "How about, everyone splits up and plays what they want? Then Sie will play with each of you in turn."

The kittens fall into uncertain murmuring, heads tilting side to side as they discuss the current conundrum. Sielaire laughs under her breath, and clasps Ayrenn's hand.

"They like playing together," Sielaire explains.

"Oh." Ayrenn hums in thought. "How about this? We'll play each game together. Sounds good?"

"Yeah," they reply.

"Alright then." Ayrenn turns to one little Senche-raht, who's been watching her intently. "What's your favourite game?"

The Senche's ears prick up, dark eyes brightening. "I like to wrestle. Sie knows!"

"Wrestle, huh? Isn't that a little too rough–?"

Too late. The Senche boy has lowered his head close to the ground, then charges right into Sielaire, who laughs and falls over with the Senche's head buried in her stomach.

"Ah! You got me."

"She's down," the kittens sang. "Get her!"

They clamour over one another in what seems to be a familiar game, and climbs all over Sielaire, rubbing and patting their paws on the Altmer. Sielaire is effectively pinned to the floor by the kittens, but seems unbothered by her predicament.

"I've been routed!" Sielaire cries in mock dismay, snickering as many paws pat at her face. "Help!"

"Only the Queen can save you now!" the Senche boy exclaims, unaware that the very Queen herself is sitting by, watching as they pile on top of Sielaire. Not that it matters – the Queen is quite content to let her battlereeve suffer the taste of defeat...for now.

Ayrenn leans back with a smile on her face, heart growing soft as she watches Sielaire laugh breathlessly under the Khajiit children. She doesn't know how well Sielaire gets along with children – she has never seen Sielaire interacting with one before. Does she even like children? She certainly seems to, though her current company _is_ made of cat people…

Still, Ayrenn can't help but wonder, as she gazes at her wife. How would Sielaire be as a mother?

She is lost in that single thought, until she's shaken back to reality by green eyes meeting hers.

"My Queen!" Sielaire says, albeit at a careful volume. "Please aid me!"

Ayrenn laughs and grasps Sielaire's outstretched hand, tugging her wife up from the floor. The Khajiit fall off her, save for the two Alfiq clinging onto her jerkin by their claws. "There you are, my Battlereeve. I thought I'd lost you."

Sielaire smiles as Ayrenn kisses her briefly on the lips. She turns her gaze back to the children, then looks up when the door is swung open again.

"Snacks are ready!" the caretaker calls, gesturing for the children to go in. "There's some for you too, five-claw."

Sielaire raises a hand in thanks, as the children race one another into the building. She blinks when Ayrenn clasps her by the chin, and stays quiet as her head is tilted this way and that, sharp eyes examining her quietly.

"Dear me," Ayrenn murmurs, looking at the shallow scratches all over Sielaire's cheeks and neck. "They are fierce little warriors, aren't they?"

Sielaire chuckles as Ayrenn heals the scratches with a simple spell. "They can be over-enthusiastic."

Ayrenn smiles, straightening the silver circlet which has been knocked askew on Sielaire's head, then runs her fingers through her wife's mussed hair. "I didn't know you liked children."

"Me neither," Sielaire says. "But I chanced upon this place the day before, and it's full of Khajiit children, so…"

"You couldn't stay away."

"Yeah," Sielaire admits with a sheepish smile, looking back at the building. Her gaze turns wistful. "Some of them are orphans, you know? Because of the war."

"Ah. Unfortunate," is all Ayrenn can say.

Sielaire nods, then averts her eyes sharply, looking into the distance. Curious, Ayrenn follows her line of sight, and notices a lone Khajiit standing by the yard's fence, staring at them. The girl's shoulders are a little hunched over as she clutches onto the fence, and looks as if she's trying to hide behind one wooden post – without much success.

"Who's that?" Ayrenn asks quietly.

"I don't know," Sielaire whispers, but she lifts a hand and waves the Khajiit over.

The girl shuffles on her feet, then approaches them timidly.

"I saw you at the feast," Sielaire says.

The young Khajiit nods. "Yes. This one was… She has heard of you," she says quietly. "How you won that last battle in Skyrim. How you rained storm of thunder and lightning on your enemy? Is it true?"

Ayrenn glances at Sielaire, whose expression stiffens by a fraction which only her wife can detect.

"I did use lightning spells, yes. They're my favourite." Sielaire smiles, sharing that little detail to draw the girl from her guarded shell. "Can you use magic?"

The Khajiit nods fervently. "Yes! Very well." Her hands come alight with harmless fire in demonstration, before she extinguishes it with similar ease. "This one wants to train...and be like you. Can she join your Wings when she grows up?"

Ayrenn knows Sielaire's answer, and that her wife won't voice it. At least, not directly. She watches as Sielaire pieces together a tactful answer in her head.

"Of course. Anyone who meets our standards is welcome. But you're still young, don't rush into being a soldier, alright?" Sielaire lays a hand on the Khajiit's arm. "How about this? Read and study as much as you can. The war has just ended, and I'm sure the city needs as many hands as they can get. Why don't you help your people rebuild first? And, if you still want to join the Wings after, you are more than welcome to sign up with us. Does that sound good?"

The Khajiit thinks it over, head cocked. Then she nods. "Papa is building many new homes in the city, and outside too. He says a lot of people need places to stay now."

"Yes. Many people need help now," Sielaire replies. "Why don't you study magic, and see if you can help them with your talent?"

The girl smiles and nods again, with more conviction. "This one will. But the Wings…"

"We will be around for a long time yet," Sielaire assures her. "Anytime you want to join us, just seek us out."

"Yes, thank you." The girl scratches at her head, and steps away. "This one will remember what you said."

Sielaire waves as the girl jogs away, then leans back with a sigh. Her eyes are lowered in thought, before she realises Ayrenn is watching her. "Yes?"

"My dear hero," Ayrenn croons. "Already inspiring the next generation of soldiers."

"Gods, I hope not," Sielaire says quietly. She looks back in the direction the girl had disappeared. "To go through what I did…"

"A heavy price to pay," Ayrenn concurs, stroking her cheek.

Sielaire gazes at her wife, then smiles. She leans in, placing a soft kiss on Ayrenn's lips. "It's for a worthy cause," Sielaire murmurs, resting their heads together.

* * *

After sharing some sugary snacks with the children, they wander about the city together, Sielaire walking hand-in-hand with the Queen in disguise. Sielaire hovers near her wife, worried that someone will recognise her dark-haired companion as the blonde queen who'd danced gaily at the celebratory feast, but she has to relent when Ayrenn tugs pointedly at her hand. She sighs audibly enough for Ayrenn to hear, and settles for walking with an arm around her wife's waist – the best security measure while incognito. Ayrenn cannot wander far, and Sielaire is close enough to protect her wife at a split-second's notice.

It's in this manner that they spend the day – as a regular Altmer couple visiting the Khajiiti city, soaking in the sights and culture of its people. They doze on a terrace overlooking the temple within the city, then dive into the market crowds with their coin pouches fastened securely beneath their shirts. They buy and exchange a few interesting trinkets, and Sielaire purchases an intricate Khajiit stone statuette for herself, while Ayrenn buys sticky, rectangular little cakes to sate her stomach. Sielaire first frowns at the cakes, which are very dense in moon sugar content, then goes into a half-trance when Ayrenn feeds her a mouthful. After the battlereeve finally returns to her senses, she frowns at her wife with a small pout, then forbids Ayrenn from eating it until they are back in her quarters.

They walk together until the sun has set, before retiring to the Queen's bedchambers. They take a bath together in the springs behind Ayrenn's bedroom, Sielaire fending off her wife's advances in favour of her empty stomach. She smiles at Ayrenn as she rises from the springs, noticing how her wife's eyes rake down her nude body, dripping with water.

But Sielaire is indeed hungry, and indulges in the rich meal brought to Ayrenn's quarters. She chews on roasted meats seasoned generously with moon sugar, and watches dubiously as Ayrenn scarfs down the cakes without falling into the same state of rapture that Sielaire had experienced.

Ayrenn smiles at Sielaire's narrowed eyes. "Don't worry about it, Sie. I have a natural tolerance for it. Raz likes to say I'm almost half-cat."

"Is that why I like you so much?" Sielaire deadpans.

"Most likely," Ayrenn replies, as Sielaire drinks more sugar-infused wine. She remains quiet as Sielaire bites on another piece of fluffy, toasted bread, then says, "Sie, can we talk about something?"

"Anything, love."

"Is the wine working on you?"

"Sort of?" Sielaire replies, eyeing Ayrenn closely. "What is it?"

"Since the war has ended, I think it's time to consider our future, yes?"

"Yes?"

"Are you ready to marry a queen?"

Sielaire pauses, the glass of wine halfway back to her lips. "I don't think I'm drunk enough yet."

Ayrenn laughs, nudging her head. "Sie."

Sielaire smiles and takes a sip of wine, wishing it has less moon sugar and more 'knock-you-to-your-knees'. She lowers her eyes, slowly setting the glass back on the table. Her heart, which has been calm and relaxed, now beats with an anxious rhythm. She looks up when Ayrenn rests a hand over hers.

"Coin for your thoughts?" Ayrenn asks gently.

"Truthfully?" Sielaire replies. "I'm not ready. I'm… It frightens me."

"It is no small matter," Ayrenn agrees.

"You're the Queen, and I'm just…" Sielaire sighs, bringing a smile to Ayrenn's lips when she takes a longer draught of wine. "I know you've talked about this many times before, and I've sworn to be with you. But there was a part of me that couldn't...trust a future so far away."

"And so uncertain," Ayrenn supplies, and Sielaire nods. "Like a fantasy to keep you going."

"Right." Sielaire feels a twinge of guilt, then adds, "But this doesn't mean I was not sincere."

"I know, Sie. I understand perfectly." Ayrenn squeezes her hand. "You know what kept me going? You. The thought of winning the war, and sharing everything I have with you."

"You already do."

"Yes, but 'everything' includes my new empire."

Sielaire huffs. "I figured."

Ayrenn smiles, bringing Sielaire's hand to her lips. "Don't let this trouble you too soon, my dear. The Dominion will keep me busy for a long while yet. Maybe a year or two. But after...I do intend to make you my wife. My consort."

Sielaire nods quietly. She moves the finger where her golden wedding band sits, a weight which she has grown accustomed to over the years, now heavier in its promise. She has committed herself to Ayrenn a long time ago, and her love has not wavered once in their years together. Nothing will change her feelings, yet this very same love makes her feel so weak now, when the time has come for Ayrenn's promises to bear fruit.

"Is there anything I can do?" Ayrenn asks.

"No, I'm…alright." Sielaire's lips twitch into a comforting smile. Then she sighs, shaking her head. "Somehow, this scares me more than the war."

Ayrenn laughs. "It scares me too, Sie. But it'll be alright. Trust me." She presses Sielaire's hand to her heart. "I'll be with you every step of the way, I promise."

Sielaire gazes back at the Queen – the treasure she guards, who has watched and protected her in return throughout the long years of war. She feels the beats of her heart, and believes the words that fall from her lover's lips.

"I know you will," Sielaire murmurs, leaning in to seal Ayrenn's vow with a soft kiss.


	27. Chapter 27

The sun had set two hours ago, but this tavern on the coast west of Alinor is still brightly lit with torches, burning with magical fires. One particular corner of this tavern's docks enjoys the best illumination, thanks to the prestige of its current guests. Sielaire can view each and every one of her soldiers' faces with ease under the moonlit sky, where they are gathered for a celebratory feast, courtesy of a commander who had promised one for all who'd survived the war. They listen to her attentively, eyes tracking Sielaire as she paces slowly before them.

"It has been a long and hard struggle to reach where we are now. To stand at home, victorious. But we have lost many of our companions, friends, and partners along the way. And for some of us, our ears." Sielaire reaches out as she passes one table, and ruffles the platinum-blonde scruff that is Earilas' hair, eliciting laughs from the rest. Earilas has lost half of one ear in the war – a bad enough disfigurement by Summerset standards, made worse by the many scars he now bears. He's never been perturbed by it, but smiles sheepishly from the attention now.

"Let us not forget the sacrifice of the fallen, nor the sacrifices we have made. But let's not dwell on our losses tonight. Divines know we'll have too much time to do that later." Sielaire sighs quietly, as a few snort in understanding. "I know that some of you will retire from the military after this. It will be hard to see you go, after all we've been through. But I wish you all the best for the future, and remember – should you stay or leave, we will always be family. The Wings will always be here for you, and you are always welcome to seek us out. I will do my best for you – be it to solve a problem, or just to finish a bottle together."

Sielaire finishes a circuit around the tables, and clasps her hands behind her back. "For the rest – I'll see you back in the barracks on your next shift. That is all. Now let's–"

"Ma'am," Earilas sings from the table, and Sielaire bites back a groan. "There's only one way to end your pretty speech."

Sielaire hides a grimace, while her Wings start to hoot and whistle. "Fine." She beats a fist against her chest. "We are the Wings!"

"We soar with the Queen's fury!" comes the thunderous reply, attracting glances from the rest of the patrons.

A battle cry which works wonders for morale just before a battle, and was just a bit silly to do in a civilian setting, but Sielaire huffs in amusement as her soldiers cheer, then dig into the feast laid out before them. She walks to the first table and takes her place at its head, sitting with the elite squad which has followed her through the war without fatal casualties. A glass of wine is already poured for her, and Sielaire sips at it, listening to the squad chatter on animatedly.

Sielaire is known for many things – strategy and martial prowess being some of the few – but words are not one of them. Already used to her quiet presence, the squad continue chatting as the night grows darker, and they start ribbing a couple in the squad who've planned to marry after the war. Sielaire doesn't pay it much mind and promises to attend their wedding, but she nearly chokes on a slice of roast when the needle turns unexpectedly onto her.

"So, Sielaire. When's your wedding happening?" Firendil asks with a smile that reveals her sharp Bosmer canines, and the whole squad turns to her with shit-eating grins on their faces.

"What wedding," Sielaire deadpans, reaching for her wine again.

"Oh, please. You couldn't act your way out of a crappy roadside play. Now spill."

Sielaire keeps her face impassive, holding fast under the attention. Her affair with the Queen is the company's worst kept secret, but only this squad has the faintest inkling of how deep their relationship is. Though Sielaire has remained stubbornly silent on the matter, it doesn't take a genius to notice how she'd worried and lost her nerve over Ayrenn many times during the war, and how the Queen would reciprocate her attentions.

So Sielaire sighs, and relents with a tilt of the head. "There may be...changes in the future. Major changes. And I would appreciate your support then."

"That's as good as a 'yes' coming from her!" Firendil exclaims, raising her own glass. "To all of us climbing up the gods-damned ladder, yeah?"

Sielaire rolls her eyes, but lifts her own glass with the rest, unaware of the growing smile on her lips.

* * *

When Sielaire next opens her eyes, she doesn't remember when she'd gone to sleep, and just _how_ did she end up in her own office?

She squints from the sunlight shining through the glass windows, then closes her eyes, turning her head away from the sun. The world sways around her, and Sielaire becomes aware of how heavy and cotton-wrapped her head feels, like she's swimming in the fog of a hangover–

 _Right_.

Her squad had taken up the years-old challenge of outdrinking their commander last night. Sielaire remembers tossing away an empty mug before falling into her seat, and slumping onto the table where she curled up with an arm around her head, refusing to drink anymore as she sank into unconsciousness. They'd finally drank her under, alright – but only because they'd teamed up against her, and could spare many bodies dropping to the floor before Sielaire did.

Gods, does she feel like slapping them all now. Her head is killing her…

Sielaire drifts into a light doze, then rouses some time later. But it can't be much later, given how bright the sunlight still is, as Sielaire cracks her eyes open under its glare. Mustering the will to move even the slightest bit, Sielaire turns her head and casts a bleary eye over her office – and finds most of the squad similarly spread out on the floor, fast asleep. Only Earilas is sitting up, propped against the wall with the very expression of regret on his face.

He catches her eye, and only bothers to keep contact briefly before shutting his eyes again. "We carried you back last night," he rasps, knowing Sielaire's unspoken question. "All of us. More like dragged, really…"

Sielaire groans, now regarding the dull throbs on her limbs with understanding. She shifts a little on the carpet, then gives up and tries to let her body recover. Waiting a few more minutes, Sielaire pushes her throat to work. "So...breakfast?"

The squad surprises her with a loud groan in unison – she'd thought they were still knocked out cold, given how inert their bodies are.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sielaire mutters, closing her eyes again. "We'll move in...five minutes. Ten."

"Fuck you," moans one soldier, who obviously doesn't want to move just yet – not even for breakfast.

"Latrines."

"Think of something new, ma'am," Firendil replies. "Latrines are getting old as shit."

"Fuck you," Sielaire utters, the most eloquent retort she can muster without the energy needed to kick Firendil's ass.

* * *

Only a full hour later do the soldiers manage to drag themselves to their feet, then shuffle over to the closest tavern to fill their stomachs with some food. Then it's a matter of seeing them back to the barracks, and going to the seaside tavern to check that the Wings hadn't caused any damage, before Sielaire finally trudges up to the palace. It's just past noon when Sielaire staggers into Ayrenn's room, veers away from the bed at the last second, and crashes into the sofa by the hearth. Resting her heavy head on a cushion and hugging another, Sielaire falls asleep almost immediately.

It's in the early evening that Sielaire rouses from her long nap, and she lays motionless on the sofa, staring blankly at the cold logs in the fireplace, wondering which era she'd woken in. A quiet shuffle of papers catches her attention, and Sielaire cranes her neck to find Ayrenn sitting at the study desk, gathering a stack of papers into a folder. She must've made an attempt to speak, because her lips are parted, and a rasp escapes her throat, turning Ayrenn's head.

Her love smiles, and Sielaire gazes upon Ayrenn's beautiful visage before her will gives out, sending her head back to the cushion.

"Finally awake?" Ayrenn says, voice sweet to Sielaire's currently-sensitive ears. "I'd thought you were in a coma."

"That sounds nice," Sielaire mumbles, and Ayrenn laughs.

"You're in quite a state, aren't you? I heard the Wings finally managed to drink you under the table last night."

"That's a lie."

"I doubt it. Word came from a very reliable source."

Sielaire turns her face up, forcing her eyes open. "Who."

"No one you need care about," Ayrenn croons, leaning down to kiss her. She brushes their lips together once, then scrunches her nose and pulls away. "Oh, your breath stinks, Sie. As a matter of fact, you smell like a brewery. Someone needs to wash up," she sings.

Sielaire whines in her throat, and turns her face back into the cushion.

"Come now, don't stink up my cushions as well." Ayrenn slides her hand under Sielaire's head, and lifts it gently. Then she clasps Sielaire's shoulder and helps her sit up. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

Sielaire groans and tries to slump back onto the sofa, but Ayrenn has grabbed her hands, and starts pulling her up. Sielaire rises to her feet, trying valiantly to keep upright by herself, before she crumples onto Ayrenn, hugging her wife for support.

"I suppose you need help getting to the bathroom?"

"Yes…" Sielaire mumbles into Ayrenn's shoulder, which shakes as her love laughs softly once more.

* * *

A week later, Sielaire is kept busy planning troop deployment not only in Summerset, but in the rest of Tamriel as well. She has drafted a proposal, and is just delivering it to Ayrenn's office, where she finds Alwinarwe engaged in a discussion with the Queen. There is an ambassador present as well, one Sielaire has seen around the palace often, but never had cause to speak with. All three women turn to watch her as she walks in.

Sielaire bows. "Your Majesty, I have the drafted plan that you requested," she says, then glances at the rest. "I apologise if I'd interrupted your discussion."

"It's alright, Sielaire," Ayrenn replies, gesturing for Sielaire to place the scroll on her desk. "Have you ever met Ambassador Ilensariel?"

She turns to regard the ambassador. "I have seen her around, but we've never had the chance to speak," she says with a courteous bow of the head.

"Likewise, Battlereeve," Ilensariel says with a similar bow, voice smooth. "But it is good to see you now. I haven't had the chance to congratulate your victory in Markarth. I've heard it was quite the duel."

Sielaire hides a grimace, knowing the ambassador's kind intention. "Word about it has gotten...exaggerated. It was a fight like any other."

Ilensariel laughs. "It may be so to you. But to many, it was an inspiring battle. Do not underestimate what you have done for morale."

Sielaire smiles politely and nods. "Then I shall not, Ambassador."

Ilensariel tilts her head, then turns back to Ayrenn. "Since the Battlereeve is here, Your Majesty, I shall take my leave."

"Actually, wait," Ayrenn says. "I think Sielaire's arrival is quite timely. You see." She looks to Sielaire. "We were just discussing our plans for sending the first wave of envoys in our preliminary diplomatic overtures."

Ilensariel nods, perking up at the subject. "It will be no easy feat to establish dialogue so soon, considering that we gained control through conquest."

"We must send only our best, then," Sielaire replies.

"And that is where Ilensariel comes in," Ayrenn says. "She will be leading this effort."

Sielaire frowns at the ambassador. "But aren't you the Proxy Queen's personal advisor? Aren't you needed here?"

"Yes," Alwinarwe replies in Ilensariel's stead. "But the situation calls for a slight change...for now." She glances at Ilensariel, a frown on her forehead. "Ilensariel's experience with other cultures is one of the most extensive among our diplomats. And, may I add, she is one of the most reliable. Our endeavour will have little chance of going awry in her hands."

Ilensariel smiles brightly. "You flatter me, Your Majesty."

Alwinarwe cocks a brow. "It is merely a statement of truth."

Sielaire catches Ayrenn's eye, and they share a quiet moment which leaves them both biting on their bottom lip, determined not to break into smiles. Alwinarwe had chosen Ilensariel as a personal advisor since Ayrenn opened Summerset's borders. And after returning from Cyrodiil, Sielaire is surprised to hear that the Proxy Queen has fostered a close friendship with the ambassador. She thinks it's nice that Alwinarwe, who typically keeps a distance from her peers and subjects, has opened up to someone. Ayrenn, on the other hand, thinks it is something else…

Sielaire clears her throat, grounding herself. "I must point out that this endeavour will be dangerous for our envoys. As Ilensariel said – we won through conquest. The air of rebellion may be thick in some regions. If they are angry enough, they may strike at our ambassadors to make a statement."

"A challenge, then," Ilensariel says without hesitation. "I do so love challenges."

Though Sielaire is wary of the ambassador's enthusiasm, she finds herself admiring that boldness. "If I may – I can assign guards to you and your people, to ensure your safety during your travels."

"That will be wonderful, Battlereeve." Ilensariel replies, a grin breaking through her composure. At a wave of Ayrenn's hand, she bows and offers a farewell, before striding out of the office.

Silence falls over them when the door is shut, then Alwinarwe speaks, "Sielaire is right. Our envoys will bear great risk in traveling to other territories so soon."

"Don't worry, Alwin dear," Ayrenn drawls, leaning back in her chair. "We will take care of Ilensariel's safety."

Keeping a discrete eye on the Proxy Queen, Sielaire watches as Alwin seems to wince faintly beneath her calm facade.

"I don't just mean her safety," Alwinarwe replies evenly. "All of them face equal danger."

"Of course," Ayrenn says placatingly. "But I know you, my dear. Just like me, you take good care of your closest friends."

Alwin's eyes narrow by just a fraction, then she sighs at Ayrenn's laugh, shaking her head in defeat.

"Well then! I've been in this seat for nearly four hours." Ayrenn rises from the chair, and stretches. "Shall we move to the parlour? I'm dying for some cakes and tea."

"Um." Sielaire shuffles uncertainly back towards the door, when Ayrenn looks at her in silent invitation. "I still have some things to see to."

"Nonsense. What could be more important than your Queen?"

Alwin clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "You're impeding her work, Ayrenn."

"I am caring for her well-being, Alwin." Ayrenn saunters over to Sielaire, stroking her cheek. "You work too much, Sie. You need to take a break more often. Preferably with me."

Sielaire huffs in laughter, leaning down when Ayrenn clasps onto her nape, and shares a kiss with her wife. "I suppose I could make some time…"

Alwinarwe snorts softly, walking to the door. "She's leading you astray, Sielaire."

Sielaire smiles, clasping Ayrenn's hand. "And I offer no protest."

"See, Alwin? Sie loves me so."

"A little too much, if you ask me." Alwinarwe rolls her eyes, then composes herself and opens the door.

* * *

Despite Ayrenn's claims, Sielaire does take breaks often – though her love doesn't notice it, as she always steals those moments between activities. Be it to sit in her office for a few minutes before heading to the training grounds, or to take a stroll along more peaceful routes to functions or meetings. This time, Sielaire is heading back to Ayrenn's quarters at the end of the day, taking a longer route through the palace's gardens to relax after the day's work.

That is where she spots Ambassador Ilensariel again – Sielaire can recognise the mer anywhere, with her sandy brown hair always braided in the latest fashions, and a glint in her chartreuse eyes which complements the easy, winning smile on her lips. Sielaire stops in her tracks, watching the ambassador stroll ahead of a group, entertaining her companions with a voice akin to a smooth lullaby. Ilensariel is beautiful, wholesomely so. In any other universe, one where Ayrenn didn't exist, Sielaire might've been tempted to approach the mer.

With uncanny timing, Ilensariel looks over at Sielaire, who nearly jumps at the sudden attention. Warmth gathers about her collar as she stuffs her private musings down, and walks to the group when Ilensariel waves her over.

Altmer, Bosmer, and Khajiit eyes rest on Sielaire as she approaches, and Ilensariel speaks, "I assume you all know about Battlereeve Sielaire?"

"Ah, yes! The hero who delivered Skyrim to the Queen," says one in the group.

"They say you look fierce, but this one thinks you look quite sleek indeed," says another.

"I–, ah." Sielaire glances at Ilensariel for help, then manages a reply, "Thank you. It is a pleasure to meet all of you."

"So polite too. Such a nice package… I could just gobble you right up."

The group titters in polite laughter at the Bosmer's jest.

"Sielaire, these are some of the envoys who will spearhead our diplomatic endeavour," Ilensariel explains. "And I think I've kept them for much too long. Please, feel free to make your escape, my dear friends." She bows, and gestures gracefully at the palace's doors.

"Ah, Ilen, you're welcome to have us for tea as long as you want," says one envoy, patting the ambassador's arm as the group heads into the castle. "We'll see you tomorrow!"

Sielaire watches the envoys leave, then turns to Ilensariel. "Well, you did bring them to a nice place for your discussion."

Ilensariel laughs softly. "It is a peaceful environment. Besides, it was more a friendly chat than a discussion. Speaking of which – there's still some tea left. Care to join me?"

"Sure." Sielaire follows the ambassador farther into the gardens. "So, how are your plans coming along?"

"Oh, they're just forming, really. But coming together nicely. I've already sent some letters out, and so far, only the Argonians have replied," Ilensariel says as they enter the pavilion, where the tea set is still laid out.

"Interesting. I'd have thought the Argonians would be the last to respond." Sielaire takes a seat at Ilensariel's gesture.

"I'd thought so too. Honestly, I'd expected any reply to arrive much later, but the Argonians did surprise me." Ilensariel pours a cup of tea for Sielaire, then herself, and sits down with a sigh. "Their people have suffered enough under the trampling feet of others, and they would rather the world leave them alone. But – I think they grew interested when I mentioned the Queen's intention to give and _ensure_ their independence. Freedom. And after all those years of war and slavery, I imagine they're quite eager at the prospect of self-determination."

"So it seems. The plan is just coming together, you say, and yet you are doing good work already. Alwinarwe is right – you are very capable." Sielaire smiles over the rim of her cup, as Ilensariel accepts the compliment graciously.

"I do my best, Sielaire. How can I give any less when you have done so much for the Dominion?"

"Please, let's not go there," Sielaire sighs, and Ilensariel laughs, probably aware of Sielaire's preference to be away from the limelight. "Tell me, how did you come into the Proxy Queen's employ? I've heard about your experience outside of Summerset. Some say it is rather...peculiar."

"Ah, yes. You see, I grew up in Alinor. Everywhere I looked, all I could see were Altmer, Altmer, and more Altmer. And I could hardly be satisfied with that, not when I know there's a whole world beyond the Blessed Isles, so many different people I haven't met. So I joined the Mages Guild first, to seize the chance to travel. When that wasn't enough, I apprenticed myself to an ambassador, and _insisted_ that they should send me across Tamriel to better understand the world Summerset has to deal with…"

Sielaire listens quietly, as Ilensariel recounts interesting and funny anecdotes from her travels. She is very fluent, and peppers her stories with tasteful little exaggerations that capture one's imagination. Sielaire finds herself enjoying this time with Ilensariel, with whom it is so easy to feel familiar and comfortable. It's no stretch of the imagination that Ilensariel would have her own line of suitors…

"Something on your mind, Battlereeve?"

Sielaire blinks, realising her mind has wandered. But she doesn't think it appropriate to share her exact thoughts at the moment, and deflects the question with, "Pardon?"

Ilensariel smiles. "You wear an expression of curiosity, Sielaire. It is the same as the last time we met. May I help?"

She considers the offer, but finds it difficult to budge. "I have heard much about you," she says. "And you always seemed like…an interesting person, whom I wish to know better."

Though the smile doesn't fade, Ilensariel's eyes turn a tad sharper, as she regards Sielaire quietly. "I know what you are wondering. The Queen wonders the same thing, though she doesn't attempt to hide it quite as much."

 _So she knows._ Sielaire nods, tapping a finger on her teacup. "Ayrenn has had it on her mind for a while now. And I must admit, I _am_ curious. But I know enough to ask no questions that will make your position...difficult."

"Speaking from experience, are we?" Ilensariel teases, bringing the warmth back to Sielaire's collar. "But I thank you for your consideration. The Proxy Queen and I share a...strong friendship. You might say we have found kindred spirits in each other."

"I see," Sielaire replies, choosing her next words carefully. "I will not pry, but I do wish to make one thing clear. Queen Ayrenn may be my top priority, but Alwinarwe is under my care as well. That is to say, if the Proxy Queen is...compromised in any way, I shall find responsibility in it. Do you understand?"

Ilensariel stares back at her, before her practiced smile grows less guarded. "Of course, Battlereeve. I assure you – both our loyalties lie with the throne."

"Good." Sielaire sighs, taking another draught of tea. "I hope I wasn't too...aggressive."

"No, you weren't," Ilensariel assures Sielaire, then looks down at her cup of tea in thought, face turning impassive. "Though you might be a little...premature."

Sielaire raises her brows, and waits for an explanation. But Ilensariel doesn't speak further, and Sielaire doesn't pry.

* * *

The night is serene, and though the winds carry the chill of a coming rain, Sielaire doesn't mind staying out on the green slopes of their private island. If anything, it gives her more cause to hold her love close, to rub warmth into her skin and chase the iciness from her hands.

Sielaire's gaze rests on Ayrenn as she massages her wife's hand, listening to Ayrenn talk about her day, the morsels of information she's overheard, and her plans for the coming days. The talking helps to straighten Ayrenn's thoughts, and Sielaire is only glad to listen in peace while Ayrenn sets her mind in order. But her wife soon turns to her, head tilted in curiosity.

"Something on your mind, love? You've been very quiet tonight."

Sielaire smiles, playing with a lock of blonde hair. "No. I just like listening to you."

"Hm. Try again."

A huff. "I've...been thinking."

"What about?"

Sielaire takes a breath. "I just realised, there may be a day when I don't have to hide my feelings for you any longer."

"There _will_ be a day, my dear," Ayrenn assures her, getting a smile and sigh in reply. "Not that it'll make much of a difference. It's hardly a secret that you're my lover."

"Yes, I am getting a stronger impression of that the more I speak with Ilensariel," Sielaire says, and Ayrenn cocks a brow. "Do you have any idea how many stories she knows about us? Wild stories? Gossip?"

"Of course I do. Raz reports to me, remember?" Ayrenn laughs. "Speaking of…" She leans in, murmuring, "I've heard there's a new edition of us in the market…"

Sielaire scoffs, pushing Ayrenn back. "No more erotica, Renn."

"You always say that, but I'll get them anyway." Ayrenn grins, then pecks the slight pout from Sielaire's lips. "But, in all seriousness, Sie. You'll only have to wait a little longer, then all shall know you as my consort. My soulmate."

Sielaire's breath catches, as Ayrenn's fingers trace the line of her jaw. "I'll never tire of hearing you say that," she whispers.

"Good," Ayrenn smiles, kissing her once more. "Because you'll hear it for the rest of your life."

* * *

 **A/N:** The plot with Alwin will unfold in a separate fic, since it'll deal with a whole new subject (asexuality in Summerset society) and I want to keep this fic focused Sie/Renn. New fic coming when...I can get my brain in order. pls brain


	28. Aldmeri - 8

Strolling through the hallways of Alinor's palace, Kinlady Sielaire allows instinct and familiarity guide her steps, while her mind is fixed on more important matters. She'd just emerged from a lengthy Council meeting which she'd presided over from morning 'til late afternoon. She is hungry and tired, but the exhaustion barely has the chance to settle in – her mind is still busy parsing out information and opinions, cross-analysing each bit of–

Sielaire nearly stops in her tracks when she hears the faintest shuffle from behind her. Lifting her gaze from the parchment in her hand, Sielaire pricks her ears and listens to the arrhythmic scuffles of soft shoes on marble flooring, always fleeting between the measured thuds of boots from the Kinlady's guards. She slows to a stop, and after her guards are done clinking into position behind her, she hears a rapid pitter-patter over the floor behind, followed by a short metallic thud. She turns around, and notices the suit of Aldmeri armour by the wall, which rattles faintly before returning to its inert state.

Catching Earilas' eye, Sielaire cocks a brow, and receives a smile in return – he knows.

"Did you hear that, Battlereeve?" Sielaire asks in a voice that carries down the hallway. "It sounded like footsteps behind us."

Earilas turns around, making sure to knock his boots a little louder against the floor, and hums as he scans the hallway behind them with theatrical flair. "No, Your Grace. The coast is clear – no one is following us."

"Good," Sielaire says airily. "With you on guard, surely no one could ever sneak up on us."

A muffled giggle can be heard from behind the suit of armour, and Sielaire smiles while her guards bite on their lips to keep from giving the game away.

"Well then, let's move on. I'm terribly busy today," Sielaire says, turning back to resume walking to her office.

She hasn't taken more than a few paces when the lightweight patter of shoes closes in behind them. Sielaire slows her strides, while her guards part farther from each other to clear a path for the little one to run through.

"Gotcha!" Astaire exclaims, clutching at her mother's dress as Sielaire jumps in convincing surprise.

"You caught me, little Star!" Sielaire croons, bending down to lift the giggling girl into her arms. "You're getting better at this every day."

"Yeah," Astaire agrees. She grins, twining her fingers in Sielaire's hair as she receives a peck on the cheek.

"Then we should reward you appropriately, yes?" Sielaire eyes the nanny who's strolled up to them, and bows to the Kinlady. "But first – were you good today, Astaire?"

"Very good," Astaire declares, her mouth set in a determined pout.

Sielaire looks to Caralisse, who tilts her head in the affirmative. "The princess has been very well-behaved today, Your Grace."

"Excellent." Sielaire taps Astaire on the nose, then nods at Caralisse. "You may go now. I'll take her from here."

Caralisse curtseys gracefully, wiggles her fingers at Astaire in farewell, and takes her leave. Sielaire watches the nanny turn a corner, before adjusting the two-year-old in her arms, and resuming her walk back to the office once more.

"Are you hungry, Star? Do you want a little snack?" Sielaire watches as Astaire nods eagerly. "Great, mama hasn't eaten since breakfast. We can eat together. What do you want? I'll have the chefs make it for you."

"I want a sweetroll."

Sielaire fixes Astaire's impish expression with a knowing gaze. "Did you have sweetrolls during lunch today?"

"One."

"Are you sure?" Sielaire asks in a sing-song voice, and Astaire caves easily.

"Two," Astaire admits, with another pout on her lips.

"That's plenty for one day, my dear. No more, or you'll ruin those pretty teeth you have." But when Sielaire looks back at the puppy eyes which Astaire gives her, she crumbles just as easily as her daughter. "Or…you could share one sweetroll with mama."

"Yay!"

Sielaire shares a smile with her daughter, who hugs her about the neck. _'You're too soft-hearted with her,'_ Ayrenn's voice chides in the back of her mind, but Sielaire really doesn't mind in the moment.

* * *

The morning sun over Alinor is just a tad hotter than it should be. Every year, on the day when Altmer gather with family to pay respects to their ancestors and those who came before, the sun usually sits behind a thin veil of clouds, as if in silent respect. This year, Sielaire can feel the warmth radiating through her clothes, and often has to pat at her face with a handkerchief to keep the perspiration from being too obvious.

But where she's having trouble with the heat, Ayrenn seems to be unaware of it at all. Granted, the Empress doesn't have the luxury of looking bothered while standing before the temple's doors, leading her people in long and melodic prayers to the gods and ancestors. But Sielaire admires her composure all the same.

Smiling gently to herself, Sielaire leans back in her chair, gazing at her wife. This is the first time Ayrenn has taken on this role – or any such role – at grand, religious functions. She's always had an impatient, near-blasphemous streak, and can barely stay still while trapped at such 'homicidally dreary affairs' – as she puts it. Thus, Ayrenn has always tossed such duties into Alwinarwe's lap and run off to attend more concrete matters, preferring to leave tradition in the capable hands of her cousin. At least, until now.

Sielaire had been surprised when Ayrenn announced her intent to lead the prayers, but after some thought, it isn't quite so much a shock. For one, Alwin has repeatedly lectured Ayrenn long enough that the Empress has to give in sooner or later. For another – Ayrenn's had a century to temper her impulses and obstinacy. Though these signature traits tend to rear their heads now and again, it is obvious that she takes more time to think over her actions, before flying into motion. Sielaire has noticed this change much more in the past couple of years, and suspects it is inspired by the circumstances which had led to their direct adoption of Astaire. A sombre motive, indeed; but Sielaire does appreciate what it has indirectly wrought.

Her eyes linger on Ayrenn, as the Empress breaks into a smile at the end of the prayer, resting briefly before gliding into the last hymn for the day. With her face raised to the sun, and that elegant smile, Ayrenn does look ever so radiant and regal. Sielaire's heart grows soft and proud, and a song of praise rises to her tongue, but she bites it down before drawing undue attention to herself.

Instead, she lowers her eyes and looks at Astaire, who is standing by herself at the edge of the wooden platform, staring intently at her mother in the distance. Sielaire thinks the girl is actually following the hymn in her heart, before Astaire is distracted, heading whipping around at the trill of a bird from above. Astaire turns, eyes flickering to the skies in search, but it ends fruitlessly.

"Star, come here," Sielaire says, reaching for Astaire when the girl walks over to her. Lifting Astaire easily, Sielaire settles the girl in her lap, and uses a handkerchief to wipe away the perspiration dotting Astaire's forehead.

"Is it warm, Star? Are you thirsty?"

Astaire shakes her head, and turns her eyes back to the congregation. Sielaire shifts in her seat, so that Astaire can observe the proceedings easier.

"Mommy's singing for so long," Astaire says.

"Yes, she is," Sielaire agrees. "It's to be expected. Mommy is being all good and proper in front of her people. Finally."

Sielaire chuckles quietly when Astaire looks at her in curiosity. Raising her gaze to Ayrenn once more, she sighs fondly. "She's changed so much since we first met, you know?" Sielaire says, as Astaire's eyes are drawn back to the congregation. "She wasn't always like the patient mommy you know. She has grown so, so much."

A smile curves her lips. "But she's still as beautiful, as divine as the day I first laid eyes on her. No – she's even more divine now. And I cannot help but fall in love with her, every single day."

"Mommy loves you too," Astaire states, matter-of-fact as she turns her head back to look at Sielaire.

"Oh?"

"Mommy says she loves you very much. And she says you're really strong, and pretty. The prettiest."

Sielaire laughs under her breath. "Does she now?"

A merciful breeze sweeps over the square, and Sielaire smooths a hand down Astaire's blond locks as she looks up at Ayrenn, who is just bringing the last hymn to a close. Her long golden hair streams in the breeze, as her eyes turn in Sielaire's direction, locking gazes from the distance. Ayrenn gestures in dismissal at the congregation, but her gaze never leaves Sielaire as she smiles at them. Sielaire's heart squeezes faintly from the subtle yet fierce adoration, and it is all she can do to smile back, before lowering her eyes to catch her breath.

She finds Astaire staring at her curiously, perhaps wondering at her mother's distraction, and Sielaire smiles at the girl.

"Mommy told you all that, did she?" Sielaire asks, and Astaire nods fervently to prove her honesty. "I believe you, sweetheart."

* * *

"Mm, cheating," Sielaire breathes between kisses, trying to focus on Ayrenn's lips instead of the fingers stroking her ears. She nearly groans at the delicious pressure with which Ayrenn massages her ears, and kisses her wife harder.

Ayrenn hums in approval, and the fingers finally leave Sielaire's ears alone – both a victory and a loss. Strong, slim digits thread through thick red hair, as Ayrenn kisses Sielaire back with equal fervour, before rolling them over.

"All is fair in love and war," Ayrenn pants between breaths, straddling her wife's hips as she cups Sielaire's jaw. "And we are making love now, aren't we?"

"Not quite yet," Sielaire murmurs with a teasing smile on her lips, which are soon met with Ayrenn's in a hot, needy kiss. Ayrenn's tongue slips deftly into her mouth, and Sielaire moans as her wife claims her.

Drawing her legs apart, she allows Ayrenn to rest a thigh between hers, rubbing against her groin with slow, steady rhythm. A hand slips beneath Sielaire's shirt, roaming over her abs and up to her chest, and Sielaire arches into Ayrenn's touch.

Ayrenn kisses her once more as another moan escapes Sielaire, then she draws back, gazing down with a wry smile. "I know I tease you a lot about this, Sie. But I do so love you like this."

Sielaire's eyes wander from Ayrenn's gaze, down to moist and reddened lips, before she pieces her thoughts together. "Like how?"

"So soft and pliant… So _easy_ for me," Ayrenn purrs, with a lascivious pout.

Sielaire laughs, husky and breathless. A glint enters her own eyes, locking with Ayrenn's. "Oh, now you're asking for it."

Flicking a tongue between her teeth playfully, Ayrenn bends down. "No, darling. _You_ will be asking for it."

And while Sielaire is torn between a taunt and a plea, Ayrenn captures her lips once more, chasing all thought and sense from her mind. Sielaire's blood quickens as she meets Ayrenn's kisses with near-bruising intensity, and amid riled heat, immeasurable tenderness fills Sielaire's chest when Ayrenn's fingers twine with her own. Clutching onto her wife's hand, Sielaire anchors herself as she's given reprieve by Ayrenn's lips leaving hers, moving to burn a path down her jaw.

Her free hand finds it way under Ayrenn's shirt while her wife pops the buttons on her own, and Sielaire slides her hand along warm flesh, feeling Ayrenn's back muscles work beneath her fingers. Ayrenn's kisses trail down to Sielaire's half-revealed chest, and Sielaire arches into Ayrenn's touch once more, in silent plea for–

"Mama?"

Sielaire's eyes snap open, while Ayrenn jerks her head up from Sielaire's chest, and presses their bodies together to hide any indecency. They stare at each other for the briefest of moments, heavy pants mixing together, before they turn their heads to look at Astaire, who has both hands on the bed and an innocent smile on her face.

"Yes, little Star?" Sielaire breathes, while Ayrenn's hand works subtly between them, buttoning up Sielaire's shirt.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Ayrenn laughs quietly, and buries her face in Sielaire's neck – where she gives a quiet whine that only Sielaire can feel on her skin.

"Of course you can, my dear. Come here."

With a little urging, Sielaire manages to roll Ayrenn off her body, giving her wife a kiss in comfort. Then she lifts the covers for Astaire to crawl in, the girl's giggles bringing a smile to her lips, as the young one wriggles into place between her mothers.

"You always have the best timing, my dear little Star," Ayrenn chuckles, drawing the covers up Astaire's chest.

"I have the best everything," Astaire declares, patting her hands on top of the thick covers, before laying back into her pillow.

"Even the best mothers?" Sielaire asks.

"I have the best mommies!"

"And we have the best daughter," Sielaire says, tweaking Astaire's nose to get another giggle. "But now, let's get the best dreams, alright?"

"Yeah."

Astaire closes her eyes obediently, and Sielaire pats at the girl gently through the covers. When it seems Astaire has dozed off – rather quickly too – Sielaire kisses the girl's forehead, then raises her eyes to meet Ayrenn's. Her wife's intent gaze reminds her of the now-cooling heat between her legs, though she can't quite say the same for the softness in her chest.

Sielaire smiles, pressing two fingers to her own lips, then Ayrenn's – receiving a kiss in return. "Patience, dear. Then you will have me, I promise."

Ayrenn smirks lazily. "You say that like I don't always have you."

Sielaire rolls her eyes, though the smile never leaves her lips as Ayrenn threads their fingers together again.

* * *

Humming under her breath, Sielaire counts the seconds down in her head, eyes never leaving the two venison loins in the pan. Her nose delights in the aroma of meat, butter and thyme, and her tongue waters in longing. When the mental countdown is done, Sielaire clicks the tongs in her hand once, and transfers the two pieces of venison into a roasting pan. Pushing it into the heated oven, Sielaire closes the door and breathes a sigh, relieved that her tasks are finally complete.

Cooking is hardly the most strenuous activity Sielaire's ever done, and though she enjoys it, the process does take something out of her. Not that she had complaints though – it tires her in a good way, and reminds her of the rare times she'd spent in the kitchen with her mother. Sielaire had often wondered why her mother insisted on cooking so much when they could afford a cook, but now…well. She knows exactly why her mother says, _'You'll understand when you have your own family.'_

Washing her hands clean, Sielaire wipes her face with a damp towel and looks at the kitchen counter, satisfied with the covered bowls and plates filled with warm food, ready for eating when the venison is done. Leaving the towel on the counter, Sielaire takes a bowl of soft pumpkin cookies she'd baked in the morning with Ayrenn, tossing one piece into her mouth as she walks out the front door. The breeze is strong this evening, and Sielaire relishes its coolness after spending so much time in a warm kitchen.

She strolls down the grass slopes to the northern point of their private island, past the flowers which Ayrenn had planted into the soil, towards the great tree standing watch by the shore. Astaire is sitting in the lone swing attached to the sturdiest bough, but it doesn't seem like she's interested in much swinging at the moment. Ayrenn is seated on the ground next to Astaire, who seems to be listening intently as her mother gestures out at the open seas, telling a story.

"…and they live in nice little villages in swamps."

"Argonians?" Sielaire hazards a guess when she comes close, and Ayrenn nods while Astaire's head swivels to her.

"Mama, mommy says lizard people live _all_ the way across the sea," Astaire says, with the occasional pause between bigger words. "But that's so far!"

"Well, they are very good swimmers. And ships exist." Sielaire settles on the grass next to Ayrenn, and offers the bowl of cookies to Astaire, who promptly grabs one.

"I want a ship," Astaire says between munches.

"Oh? And where will you go with your ship?" Ayrenn asks, plucking a cookie from the bowl as well.

"I wanna see cat people."

"Dear, oh dear," Ayrenn laments. "Our daughter is taking after you, my darling wife."

"As she should," Sielaire deadpans, though she smiles at Astaire. "There are lots of different Khajiit in Elsweyr, little Star. They don't all walk on two legs, you know. Some of them look like big, big tigers. And some of them look like the cats we have in the palace."

"Really? I want one!"

"You can't just 'want' an entire person, sweetheart," Sielaire laughs, though she grows quiet soon after. She turns to Ayrenn, fixing her with a thoughtful gaze. "Come to think, why don't we have an Alfiq in the palace? They'd work well as spies."

"Because, my dear, I'm afraid you'll forget about me once you have an Alfiq sidekick."

"Are you jealous, beloved?" Sielaire teases, pressing a soft kiss to Ayrenn's lips. "You know that no one will usurp your place in my heart."

"Not even a cat with _very_ sleek fur?"

"Hm, tempting." Sielaire bursts out in another laugh when Ayrenn thumps a fist against her chest. Circling an arm around Ayrenn's waist, she kisses her wife once, then twice more. "You will always be the sleekest to me, Renn. No one will ever compare to you."

"I know," Ayrenn croons, a crooked smile on her lips. "I just wanted you to say it."

Sielaire huffs, then leans in gladly when Ayrenn closes the distance, savouring the feel and taste of her wife's lips.

"Aunt Alwy says you kiss too much."

They barely have time to part before they snort crudely at the sudden comment.

"What!" Ayrenn cackles. "She really said that?"

Astaire nods sagely. "You're hopeless."

"Oh, she is absolutely merciless," Sielaire intones under her breath, so only Ayrenn can hear her.

"I'm thinking we should have a little chat with her, hm? About not saying such things around our daughter…" Ayrenn's voice drifts off, then her eyes come alight with an impish glint. "Or, we could try this. Hey, Astaire?" Ayrenn says louder, catching Astaire's attention. "Did you know Aunt Alwy has a stick up her–?"

A mix between a laugh and gasp left Sielaire's lips, as she nudged at Ayrenn's ribs reproachfully. " _Renn!_ "


	29. Wanderlust - 5

"Ugh."

Sielaire's quiet grumble attracts an amused glance and smile from Ayrenn, as they trudge up the slope towards an old set of rickety wooden doors. They're making their way out of an empty ebony mine, which has long been abandoned due to veins which had run dry. Normally, news of such places don't interest them, but rumours of recent activity had piqued Ayrenn's interest. Sielaire refused at first, fearing the rumours would lead them on a trail towards danger, but she'd caved to her wife's whims as always.

As it turned out, Sielaire's fears are well-founded. Though there had been nothing near the entrance, giving an eerie atmosphere to the dark tunnels, they found some excitement further in – nix-hounds had made their home within the sprawling system of tunnels, and were fiercely territorial of their breeding ground buried deep within. Against Sielaire's counsel to leave, Ayrenn ventured further into the mine with her wife, killing only aggressive nix-hounds in their search for something interesting.

They found plenty of trinkets and small treasures lying on the ground, then stumbled upon a suspicious trail of bodies, which grew fresher and more bloodied as it led them to the single troll that had made a home in a corner of the mines. Sielaire flew into action before the troll had time to fall upon them – a flash of lightning was enough to incapacitate it, wringing a howl from its throat before it was pierced by a spear of magic from Ayrenn. Sielaire had thrown her wife a dirty look then, and Ayrenn had the grace to look slightly apologetic as she gathered the last of the trinkets lying on the ground, then led the way out of the mine.

Their satchels are notably heavier with loot, but Sielaire can't help feeling as if it hadn't been worth the trouble. They are the last people on Nirn who need to scavenge for their fortunes, after all.

"What's wrong, dear?" Ayrenn asks, when Sielaire doesn't stop frowning at the bracer she's worrying at.

"Shouldn't have come in here," Sielaire mutters, running a finger over the scratch left on her adamantium bracer by the troll.

"Come now, Sie. We handled the nix-hounds and troll just fine. And we can get that scratch buffed out by a smith in the next city."

"It's not the troll," Sielaire replies. "That bloody nix-ox…"

Ayrenn chuckles as Sielaire conjures a barrier which hugs close to her skin, and she tries to wipe off the remains of the putrid spit which a lone nix-ox within the mine had spat at them. "We'll go to that lake we spotted and wash ourselves off, alright?"

Sielaire sighs and desists from her futile endeavour. Despite her annoyance, she can't help but feel amused by herself. It's not like she hadn't experienced such…'mundane' encounters before – in fact, dealing with creatures had been a staple in the missions she'd taken in the Fighters Guild, long ago. But after the recent years, Sielaire has become too accustomed to fighting other soldiers in the Alliance War, who were opponents of varying levels of skill. Perhaps, she now prides herself so much as an accomplished warrior, that she doesn't think of everyday creatures as a worthy opponent anymore. Of course, the creatures usually aren't, but such arrogance is often the cause of one's downfall.

So Sielaire quashes the indignity of being spat on by a nix-ox, and smiles at her wife instead. She reaches over to wipe a smudge of dirt from Ayrenn's cheek, then takes her wife's hand as they reach the mine's wooden doors, grimacing when she feels the similarly slimy texture on Ayrenn's skin as well.

* * *

They head to the lake they'd glimpsed in the distance earlier that day, and manage to reach it just as the sun has started to set. Since the lake is too close to the main road for comfort, they bathe in the waters with their underwear on. But the potential lack of privacy doesn't stop Ayrenn from cupping a feel or ten, while Sielaire alternates between swimming away and returning the favour. Many cackles and splashes of water later, they emerge from the water and towel themselves dry.

Sielaire then sets to work by the lake, cleaning their weapons and armours while Ayrenn starts a fire, and cooks the remaining perishable meats and vegetables in their packs. It takes a while to get their equipment clean – nix-ox spit has an uncanny ability to slip into every crevice it can find – and when Sielaire is done, night has already fallen. She carries the equipment to the campfire, where she's glad to find Ayrenn waiting for her with a lid over the pan. Ayrenn takes the pan from the fire and sets it on a short rock, and Sielaire takes a deep breath of the stir-fry's aroma when the lid is lifted.

"Smells good." Sielaire opens her mouth for Ayrenn to deliver a spoonful of guar meat and peppers.

"How is it?"

"It's great," Sielaire sighs. Her verdict is no exaggeration – the flavour is good for camp fare made from limited rations, and she gives thanks that she'd had the foresight to buy some lard before leaving the last town. "You should cook more often."

"That's if someone doesn't insist on hogging the pan every time." Ayrenn wears a wry smirk, and is about to take a bite of food when they stop dead, hearing the rustle of bushes in the distance.

They turn their eyes to the source of the noise, magicka humming faintly around their hands, and they watch the inky darkness on the other end of the lake. The bushes rustle louder, before parting to reveal two large guars thumping over the ground with their big feet. Ayrenn laughs under her breath at the sight, while Sielaire sighs and gives thanks that it isn't some unsavoury ash-born creature come to ruin their lackadaisical mood.

"Feels like I haven't relaxed since we stepped foot here," Sielaire comments, crunching on pepper strips and juicy meat. "Never know what's going to jump at us next."

Ayrenn chuckles. "Be honest, Sie. You haven't relaxed since we left Alinor. But I agree, the creatures here are…fiercer, at least." She takes a sip of water from a canteen. "But that's one thing I like about Morrowind – the land doesn't go easy on its people."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"To some degree, I would say it is. The Dunmer are rugged, and they learn to survive in harsh conditions from a young age. It's something to be admired, at least."

"I much prefer rolling green plains than ash-choked soil, myself," Sielaire replies drily.

"Of course you do, darling," Ayrenn croons, nudging her cheek. "Frankly, so do I. And besides, our rolling green plains do hide some dangerous mysteries from time to time. Don't you agree?"

Sielaire grimaces, reminded of the Daedric plot in Summerset years ago. She'd returned home from Cyrodiil at Ayrenn's request, and fought countless monstrous yaghra spewed out by geysers. She'd even slain a sload which had laired to the west of Alinor, and wished she would never have to face such a creature again. The sload's yaghra minions had been more fearsome than any she'd faced, and Sielaire herself had nearly fallen to its relentless psychic blasts, before managing to sink her blade through its skull – repeatedly.

"Sorry," Ayrenn says, cupping Sielaire's face to bring her back. "Bad memories?"

"Just…unpleasant."

"Then let's talk about something else. Or is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, I think," Sielaire says before she knows it, gazing at Ayrenn as a spark of playfulness comes to life in her. "A kiss might do the trick."

Ayrenn huffs. "Oh, Sie. You've been around me too long."

"Never too long," is all Sielaire can manage, before Ayrenn claims her lips and thoughts. She kisses her wife back, a tender reciprocation which makes her linger as they part, gazing back into Ayrenn's eyes. Sielaire takes what breath she can, captivated by the simple vision of her wife's countenance lit by the flickering fire.

"You know, this is more…how I've imagined my marriage."

Ayrenn tilts her head curiously. "Hm?"

Sielaire laughs, voice soft as she leans back on her hand. "This. Me and my wife, adventuring together. Just the two of us, against the elements and whatever comes our way."

"Oh?"

"Or…sometimes, she'd be a teacher, a healer, a scholar. And I'd bring flowers and gifts home whenever I return from my travels." Sielaire shrugs, feeling a touch of warmth rise to her cheeks as she reveals the dreams of her younger self. "Never crossed my mind that I'd be ordered around by my Empress of a wife."

Ayrenn chuckles as Sielaire's lips curve in a tease. "You say that as if you wouldn't be just as happy being ordered around by your teacher of a wife too."

"Of course I would. My wife, whoever she is, would rule my heart as surely as if she is the Empress."

"Well then, aren't you lucky," Ayrenn purrs, leaning close. "You married a woman who is both."

"Lucky?" Sielaire tries to put on an incredulous expression, but breaks into a smile when Ayrenn pecks her on the lips. "We'll see about that."

* * *

Keeping close to the eastern coastline of mainland Morrowind, Ayrenn traces a route which she'd taken years ago, when she was a younger mer looking for adventure and trouble. The roads turn from well-trodden soil to rough cobbles, which then give way to neat stone pavements leading up to the large city that is their next destination – Necrom.

It is a high-walled city with sturdy foundations, its battlements and roads patrolled by seasoned Indoril guards, who leer at the Altmer pair through the slits in their helms. Though the city is a place of interest for many scholars and travellers, it doesn't bother to be welcoming to visitors, Ayrenn explains as they pass through the city gates. Sielaire nods, listening to her wife talk about the city and its main feature – the necropolis, where Dunmer families bring the urns of deceased loved ones for last rites.

Even in the air, Sielaire can smell the Dunmer's reverence for their ancestors – the smoky scent of joss sticks hangs in the air no matter where they walk. Aside from the large quantity of burning incense at the temple, burners in every home and shop contribute to that distinct tang in the air. But it is not an unpleasant smell – some incense emit fragrant aromas which prevent the smoke from being too overpowering.

Sielaire looks around with interest, while Ayrenn leads the way into the merchant district and finds an inn to her liking. Upon their entrance, the Dunmer innkeeper's eyes turn upon them, sharp as a hawk, and he regards them with poorly-disguised disdain before tossing them a key, growling directions to their room. Setting their travel packs down, they leave the inn to walk around the city longer, before returning to the inn for a meal and falling into bed for an early rest, tired as they are from the road.

They wake late in the morning, grab a bite to eat in the tavern below, then head out to explore the city in earnest. Ayrenn charts their course through Necrom – making a comprehensive round of the stores in the merchant district, before heading to the sprawling cluster of residences for a stroll in relative peace. Then they approach the temple which houses the entrance to the catacombs, but are barred entry due to their identity as Altmer. Not that Sielaire wishes to stay there for long – her nose is getting irritated from the thick concentration of smoke, and her eyes have started to water. Ayrenn isn't faring much better herself, and pulls Sielaire away from the temple.

They wander back to the merchant district, where something catches Ayrenn's eye – a noticeboard set up near a small shrine. It's a bounty board, Sielaire realises as they walk up to it, recognising the familiar organisation of the notes and reading what little Dunmeri script she understands. Ayrenn, however, hums with interest as she reads the notes easily, and Sielaire finds herself praying that her wife will not reach for a single piece of parchment pinned to the board.

After a few minutes, her prayer is answered when Ayrenn looks away from the board in disinterest – but Sielaire's brief luck is dashed when a Dunmer speaks from where he sits on a nearby bench.

"Those swords on your belts – do you know how to use them?"

They eye the well-dressed Dunmer as warily as he does them, and Ayrenn answers, "Very well."

"Adventurers, aren't you? Interested in a job?"

Sielaire shoots Ayrenn a warning look, but her wife doesn't notice. "Maybe. What are you offering?"

"If we're lucky, a search-and-rescue. If not, then vengeance will do."

Sielaire's brows draw together – she doesn't like the sound of this, not one bit. She grabs Ayrenn's arm, but her wife merely clasps her hand in return.

"Any further details you can give?"

"My partner has gone missing. I've done my own investigations, and I suspect he's been kidnapped, held in a remote location near Necrom. Now I need the muscle to bring him back."

"Hm. You'll have to give more–"

" _Ara_ ," Sielaire cuts in pointedly, tugging at Ayrenn's arm with enough force to turn her around. "We need to talk about this," she whispers in Altmeris.

"I just want to listen, Sira."

"And we both know you will not stop there," Sielaire hisses.

"Excuse me," the Dunmer interrupts, and Sielaire glares at him while Ayrenn merely glances back with nonchalance. "I sense there is some disagreement here. If you wish to hear more about the job, I will be at the tradehouse." He nods at the largest building in the district. "Look for Taldis Omaren."

Sielaire looks back at Ayrenn as he nods and sweeps away smoothly. "Ara, we are _not_ doing this."

"Someone's missing."

"And it is not our business."

"Someone is in danger, and we can help."

"It's not a matter of our ability! I am not allowing you to put yourself in danger–"

"I don't need your permission. You are not my caretaker, Siranya," Ayrenn bites back, her tone turning cold for a brief moment, before she thaws. "I know you do this out of love, but you will not dictate my choices–"

Something snaps in Sielaire, and she hisses, "And how can I 'dictate' your choices when you _never_ listen to what I have to say?" Ayrenn reaches for her, but she takes a step back.

"Do as you wish," Sielaire intones. "You always do."

Her heart aches when hurt flits across Ayrenn's features, but just this once, the pang of guilt doesn't put out the anger burning in her chest. Sielaire wrenches her gaze away from her wife, and storms out of the city's gates.

* * *

She doesn't know where she is headed, but she doesn't need to. Sielaire needs air, and finds reprieve in the distinct lack of smoke in Necrom's outskirts. Each deep breath of fresh air drives her onward, her feet cutting a reckless path through sparse grass, barely slowing down for the mer she knows is following behind her. But soon logic soon eases Sielaire's swift strides, and she takes a deep breath. She spins on her heel, waiting for Ayrenn to get close.

"Sie–"

"What am I going to do if something happens to you?" Sielaire snaps, careful to keep her voice low even though they are alone in the wilderness. "If you get hurt, or _worse?_ Go back home and tell the Court, tell _Alwin_ that I let you throw yourself into danger?" That I didn't do enough to protect you?"

Ayrenn takes a step towards her, but she steps back in reflex. "You can't keep doing these…reckless, _foolish_ things, Renn!"

"I know."

Ayrenn's calm agreement gives Sielaire pause, but the steady look in blue eyes tells her that she will not win this argument easily.

"But?" Sielaire prompts, patience running thin.

"But…" Ayrenn sighs with a wan smile. "Sie, you know this. That if I had a choice with no consequences, I would throw the crown to Alwin, and steal you away from Summerset, never to return. I would throw all that I have away, and just be with you, free from all the politics and responsibility of the throne. But I can't. And all I can manage is an escape, _this_ escape for a little while, pretending I don't have the weight of Tamriel on my shoulders."

Ayrenn pauses as if waiting for a response, but Sielaire doesn't speak. "Sie, I know you won't leave my side now. But if this is to work, I need you to stop seeing me as the Empress for our travels."

"You _are_ the Empress," Sielaire growls. "No matter where you go, or what guise you've taken."

"An unfortunate truth." Ayrenn's smile looks forced. "But I won't limit myself because of this. Sie–" She clasps onto Sielaire's arm, only for Sielaire to yank herself away.

Taking a steadying breath, Sielaire is careful not to meet Ayrenn's eyes, and turns away to look off into the distance. Something withers inside her, and she has to fight the urge to fold into herself. Sielaire crosses her arms and closes her eyes, as Ayrenn speaks behind her.

"I'll be back at the inn."

 _After you've gone to the tradehouse_ , Sielaire wants to say, but bites her tongue.

"Don't stay out too late, alright?" Ayrenn says.

Sielaire gives no answer.

* * *

Sielaire has one answer, and she's only ever had the one since she'd first met Ayrenn years ago. She has known from the start that this argument will end as it always has, and the inevitability frustrates her. It is her weakness, but she has always been content to let Ayrenn hold the reins – as the Queen. But now, they are leagues away from Alinor, from territories where Ayrenn's status is respected without question, and it makes them so vulnerable. Without the protection of Ayrenn's crown, Sielaire's fear runs deeper, manifesting as an acute need to protect her partner, her _wife_ –

 _Damn it all._

A trickle of regret blends with her anger, and the hour she has spent stewing beneath a tree comes to an end. Rising to her feet, Sielaire pats the dirt from her clothes, and makes her way back to Necrom.

The austere white-and-grey walls of the city are aglow with an orange hue from the setting sun, and Sielaire pauses for a moment to admire the sunlight playing over Necrom like paint on canvas. Then she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and walks into the inn where Ayrenn said she would wait.

Sure enough, Ayrenn is seated at the lone table in their room, and the sight of her poring over their map makes Sielaire feel a lick of irritation. But she clenches her jaw as Ayrenn looks up, both mer watching each other warily before one breaks the frosty silence.

"Sie–"

"No. I want you to listen," Sielaire cuts in, and Ayrenn purses her lips together. "You cannot tell me to stop what has been second nature to me for years. I have said this before, and I will say it again – I do not merely protect you because you are the Empress. You are my heart, a part of my soul, _damn it_. That is why I cannot bear even the thought of allowing harm to fall upon you."

Sielaire raises a hand when Ayrenn starts to speak. She draws a long, slow breath, and continues, "But I know that I can make you feel…shackled. That is why I've always given in to your wishes despite my better judgment, and…this time will be no different. _But_ ," Sielaire adds. "I want you to promise me, that you will take into account my counsel from now on. Just _listen_ to what I have to say, alright?"

Ayrenn cracks a smile, and nods. She raises a hand towards Sielaire, who moves forward to take her wife's hand, sitting on the chair which Ayrenn pulls out for her. Taking the empty cup on the table, Sielaire grabs the bottle and pours herself some sujamma. Knocking back a mouthful, Sielaire sighs from the liquor's satisfying burn, and the relief from words which has weighed on her heart for too long. She looks at Ayrenn's soft smile, and feels the last threads of anger unwind from her heart.

"For what it's worth, Sie. I'm sorry."

Sielaire nods, and breathes another sigh before gulping down more sujamma. "Now, give me the details."

Ayrenn's smile tilts into a smirk, and she pushes the map over to Sie. "This is our destination," she says, pointing out a landmark circled in black ink. "An Ayleid ruin. Omaren doesn't know who the kidnappers are, but says to be careful as they've taken care to keep their identities and movement secret…"

* * *

The ruin is just half a day's trek from Necrom, and it is there that Sielaire's misgivings turn to reality. On the surface, the ruin is nothing much to look at, and stone doors sunk into the ground deters opportunistic adventurers from trying to enter a ruin with no entrance. But a closer search reveals a hatch behind from the sunken doors, and Sielaire climbs through the hatch first, careful to emit no sound as she moves down the wooden ladder.

Scanning the dark hallway as Ayrenn climbs down after her, Sielaire conjures two wisps of light, and sends one to Ayrenn. They share a glance, and draw their blades as they venture further into the ruins. Navigation is easy through the empty corridors, but something thrums deep in Sielaire's veins. Soon, they find shoeprints on the dusty floor, which leads them down many long corridors until they arrive at a surprisingly well-lit chamber.

Sielaire passes a quick eye over its inhabitants, who seem like innocuous townsfolk at first – but the fresh mer and human corpses carved like roasts on the dinner table shocks her into action. Magicka gathers in Sielaire's hand in a heartbeat, and she throws out a lance of lightning which rends through three cannibals, sending them to the floor as charred bodies. Ayrenn flies in while they're distracted by Sielaire's spell, slashing one human across the throat, and taking down the remaining two Dunmer with spell and blade each.

Ayrenn huffs in distaste, flicking the blood from her sword, then gestures for Sielaire to start searching for their quarry. It doesn't take long; Omaren's partner is laid out on the dinner table, his eye sockets and chest cavity hollow. Between his clavicles rests a topaz amulet, which Ayrenn retrieves as instructed by Omaren, in case of their target's death.

Tucking the amulet into her pouch, Ayrenn casts one last glance over the morbid scene, then tilts her head at Sielaire. They leave the ruin with all haste, and set down the main road at a swift pace, driven on by the urge to fly far from their sickening discovery in the ruin's depths.

Night has fallen by the time they reach Necrom, but they find Tildas Omaren still working in his office at the tradehouse. The Dunmer is distracted by their entrance, and his expectant expression grows crestfallen when Ayrenn hands the amulet to him. Quiet anger draws his face taut as Ayrenn recounts what they'd found in the Ayleid ruins.

"I will inform the guards, and have them clear that place out as soon as possible. But first – I would like to thank you. You have done much to soothe my soul." Omaren stares at the amulet in his hand, then closes his fingers over it. He reaches down to his desk's drawer, and takes a heavy coin pouch which he hands to Ayrenn.

"Your payment. May the Three…or your Divines watch over you."

* * *

They remain in Necrom for two more days, before hitting the roads once more. This time, they've decided to take a cart to the next town – for convenience, and to indulge in Ayrenn's desire to ride in a guar-drawn cart.

The cart-rider they've hired is remarkably different from his fellow Dunmer – he has a cheerful disposition, and doesn't seem to mind that Ayrenn has taken a seat at the front of the cart, engaging him in light-hearted banter.

"So you're just travelers, eh?" he says, sitting half-turned in his seat so he can face Ayrenn comfortably. "Not looking to settle down, or anything?"

"Why, have many Altmer been moving to Morrowind?" Ayrenn asks in jest, and the Dunmer's smile turns sheepish.

"Not that I know of. But a famous one's settled here, and that's enough to get tongues wagging."

Ayrenn exchanges a glance with Sielaire, and though they have an inkling of who this Altmer is, Ayrenn asks politely, "Who is it?"

The Dunmer fixes her with an incredulous look. "Don't you know? It's the hero of Tamriel, who ended the Planemeld? One of your own people."

"Ah, yes. Aneril of Lillandril, isn't it?"

"Something like that. Heard tell she went to Vvardenfell, living in Balmora now. Apparently she's highly-sought as a merc, but takes very few jobs. Bet they pay damn well, though."

"Hm, that sounds good. Maybe we should pay her a visit, take a job or two off her hands," Ayrenn drawls, turning back to smile at Sielaire, who's obviously biting her tongue.

Sielaire squints at her in warning, then rolls her eyes at Ayrenn's wink, before turning away with her arms crossed. Ayrenn sighs quietly to herself, waves at the Dunmer to excuse herself, and moves to join Sielaire.

"I'm just joking, Sie. You know that."

"I never do," Sielaire utters unhappily, though she doesn't protest when Ayrenn rests a hand in the crook of her arm.

"I really am this time, Sie. I promise. But I do want to pay Aneril a visit," Ayrenn says quietly in Altmeris, attracting a curious glance from Sielaire. "She left my service quite abruptly – even Raz was surprised by her departure. It's a loose end I want to tie up."

Sielaire raises a brow.

"I have to ensure she doesn't speak of her time with us. And, if possible…it would be useful to have an Eye close to Vivec City."

Sielaire's expression turns thoughtful. "And if she doesn't want to?"

"Then I shall leave her in peace. I won't force her to stay." Ayrenn looks to Sielaire, eyes glinting playfully. "Too bad you won't enjoy the same concession."

Sielaire rolls her eyes again. "I am hardly your agent," she says, lowering her voice to a near–inaudible whisper as she leans in. "Your Majesty."

"No, you aren't," Ayrenn croons back. "You are my beloved wife, remember?"

Sielaire smiles, and kisses her softly. "Every second I am with you, I do."


	30. Chapter 30

Nights in Anequina are always crisp and cool, when the deserts are given reprieve after sunset. Ayrenn particularly enjoys venturing out into the sands at night, with the silvery moon in the sky as her guide, and the winds on her back spurring her ever onwards, taking one step after another into the unknown. On this night though, Ayrenn doesn't have the luxury to walk far. But she does push her luck – slipping out of her tent and past her guards, trekking over sand dunes until she finds a perch high enough to provide a good view of the Dominion camp.

It's such an eyesore – a bunch of identical tents pitched in neat rows, with torches burning bright to provide illumination, breaking the gentle cover of the desert's night. Ayrenn sighs as she looks at the camp, wondering not for the first time if she could go through with this. This whole…'Queen' thing. Oh, she can handle leadership, politics, and military strategy just fine, but the amount of attention and _rules_ which have been piled on her… It makes Ayrenn want to scream and hurl her crown at the nearest person, sometimes.

With a slight shake of the head, Ayrenn closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose. Only when the simmering frustration has died away, does she open her eyes and scan the camp once more. Despite all the new restrictions imposed by her station, Ayrenn does appreciate certain things in her new endeavour. Her allies have been few since she'd first set upon creating the Aldmeri Dominion, but as days go by, she can see many who are starting to embrace her cause and ideals. Many who've been distant at first, are starting to draw closer, willing to listen and understand her, and even work together to have a taste of what their future may be. It is a relief, and very gratifying – signs of progress which keep Ayrenn working despite the odds stacked against her.

Her sharp eyes rove over the camp, picking out select faces which have become familiar in their journey across Dominion territories, and finally come to rest on a battlereeve waiting by the makeshift 'front gates' of the camp. A faint smile curves Ayrenn's lips. Battlereeve Sielaire is one of the few who have supported her without question from the beginning, and though Ayrenn can tell the battlereeve still harbours some doubt for the Dominion, Sielaire has been unwilling to divulge them, merely demurring to Ayrenn's better judgment. Though Ayrenn much prefers to dispel Sielaire's doubt quickly, she recognises the need for patience with this mer, who prefers to think things over before casting her lot. Besides, Sielaire's presence has given her much comfort in this time of flux, and Ayrenn is loath to scare the battlereeve away…

A dramatic huff and puff distracts Ayrenn from her musings, and she looks around to find Razum-dar panting loudly as he trudges towards her, tossing over one of the two bottles in his hands.

"Raz understands your need for some quiet, but _this_ is ridiculous," he says, plopping down on the sands beside her as she takes a swig of ale. "This one has spent an hour looking for you, _and_ he has to trek up a large dune to reach you. How dare you make your dear friend work like this–" His mock rant ends in a laugh when Ayrenn's fist collides into his chest.

"That's enough, drama queen," Ayrenn says, taking a shorter sip of ale. "Why are you looking for me? Has the alarm been raised back there?"

"Oh no, Raz just wanted to have a drink together, that's all." Raz shrugs. "What about you? What are you doing all the way out here, all by yourself?"

Ayrenn imitates his shrug. "Just thinking, I guess. And yeah, I did need some quiet away from the camp."

Raz chuckles under his breath. "Quite a change from our clandestine little outfit from before, eh? Honestly, Raz cannot believe how loud and demanding these people are. Not to mention persnickety – he means your own people, by the way."

"I know," Ayrenn replies with a roll of the eyes, before turning her gaze back to the camp. "But not all of them are like that."

Battlereeve Sielaire is still at the gates, but it seems her dragoons have returned. She clasps the hand of her lieutenant, then listens to his report while nodding at the rest of the scouting squad marching in. As Ayrenn watches, a soldier seems to make a comment, and Sielaire reaches out to knock her fist on their head, causing the rest bend over as if in laughter. Sielaire shakes her head and waves a hand to dismiss her dragoons, but as she walks away, Ayrenn fancies seeing a secret smile on Sielaire's lips as well.

"Stare at the battlereeve any harder, and your eyes will pop out of your skull."

Ayrenn chokes on the ale she's sipping, and coughs. "What?"

"Oh, no need to pretend. Raz knows you're looking at her. You always get that smile when you do. And that hungry look in your eyes…"

"I do _not_ look hungry, you horrible cat," Ayrenn retorts, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You're exaggerating."

"Maybe he is. But Raz still thinks you look a little desperate. And he _is_ quite surprised you haven't made a move yet."

Ayrenn sighs in exasperation, half-tempted to cut their conversation off right here. But she hadn't had much time to chat with Raz in the past month, and she does want to get this off her chest. "She's different, Raz. She's an Altmer raised in Summerset. You can't jump too quickly with these types."

"Well, she doesn't seem too persnickety to Raz–"

"And stop using that word. I hate it."

"–even though she still hasn't cracked a smile at his witty humour yet," Raz continues, unruffled. "But he thinks you have a chance. She has eyes for you too."

Ayrenn pauses, then shoots her friend an incredulous glance. "Are you sure?"

"You don't trust Razum-dar?" Raz scoffs, holding a hand to his chest in hurt. "After all these years, you still don't trust him–?"

"Oh, quit it, Raz." Ayrenn smacks his arm, and leans in. "You think she's…"

Raz snickers, then leans in conspiratorially as well. "Raz can tell. She behaves differently with you. Her eyes are always on you – even though you cannot tell." He looks off into the distance in thought. "How you haven't noticed is a mystery. Raz honestly wonders how can two people, who are constantly making eyes at each other, _not_ notice the mutual attention? Unless they are both dense Altmer with very thick skulls–"

Ayrenn shoves the chortling Khajiit onto the sand. "I hate you, Raz. You know that?"

"Yes, yes. You made your point," Raz gasps, shoulders still shaking as he sits back up. "How about this? Raz can help you, be your wingman–"

"No!" Ayrenn cuts in sharply. "No more. Last time you did that, the woman leapt off our bloody ship!"

"…Raz did convince her to get back aboard. Eventually."

"Only because she had no other choice, and she avoided us like we were lepers after that," Ayrenn reminds him. "You will _not_ interfere. Understand?"

"Fine, fine." Raz relents, gulping down more ale. "But if you take any longer, lonely old Raz _may_ make his move first–!"

He lands on the sands a second time, laughing amid the smacks on his body, and cries out, "Just kidding! _Just kidding!_ "

* * *

"Ayrenn?" Sielaire says softly, but she doesn't have to.

Though her back is turned, Ayrenn can hear the door being opened and shut with the calculated care of the battlereeve. Ayrenn smiles as the footsteps draw close, and she turns around to watch Sielaire approach her in the Queen's private training room, where they've agreed to meet for some combat exercises.

Sielaire smiles gently to mirror hers, before green eyes are drawn to the sheathed blade in Ayrenn's hand. Her head cocks slightly, fingers flexing around her own wooden training sword, as she asks, "Is that your new blade?"

"No." Ayrenn closes the distance, and lifts the sword between them, holding it in both hands. "It's yours."

Sielaire's brows rise in surprise, as she looks back at the sword. Her perceptive eyes rove over the sword, no doubt taking in the expensive hardened leather sheath, and guessing at the sword's make beneath, putting together how precious this weapon is. Sure enough, Sielaire speaks, "This is a…valuable gift."

"To put it lightly," Ayrenn says with a quiet laugh. Sielaire hesitates, before taking the sword in her hands. "I've had it custom-made for you. Go on, test it out."

Eyes flickering briefly up to Ayrenn, Sielaire grips the sword's hilt, and pulls it out. The polished adamantium blade glints from the fires in the room, then dances as Sielaire takes a step back, twirling the sword this way and that.

"I've noticed the way you handle your sword," Ayrenn explains. "Your grip is very…relaxed, comfortable. Or loose, you could say."

Sielaire huffs. "Yes, it is. You wouldn't believe how much my mentor chided me for it."

Indeed, Ayrenn doesn't believe how one so perfect could've ever done something bad enough to warrant a reprimand, but bites down the adoration that rises to her tongue. She gazes at Sielaire longer, taking the time to calm herself, before continuing, "It only means you're confident in your swordplay, Sie. But the way you hold your blade – the straight hilt of our standard-issue swords makes it difficult to handle, no?"

Sielaire's head tilts in thought, then relents with a nod. "Yes, it does. It tires me out quickly." She looks down at the sword, then opens her fingers from around the curved hilt. "So you had it made this way?"

"Yes. I thought this would suit you better."

"It does," Sielaire replies, laughter bubbling beneath her voice. "I've only held it for a minute, but it's already much more comfortable than my regular blade."

"Good," Ayrenn sighs in relief, as fears of Sielaire's rejection are put to rest. She clasps Sielaire's wrist, and guides her to hold the blade horizontally, running a fingertip over the intricate runic inscriptions on the blade. "The sword is adamantium – sturdy enough to withstand blows from most materials. But, I thought it wouldn't hurt to strengthen it with enchantments. I think you'll find it cuts through metal and flesh very easily."

Ayrenn strides away to a weapons rack at the side, and picks out a mundane steel blade. She twirls it around her body as she walks back to Sielaire. "On guard."

Sielaire raises the blade before her, clasping it in both hands, and Ayrenn swings her sword at the new blade with utmost force. Steel chips and cracks near to breaking from the impact against adamantium, and Sielaire's eyes grow wide at the sight.

"Amazing," Sielaire says under her breath, almost to herself. She runs a finger near the blade's razor edge, then flips it around to touch the flat end of the one-sided blade. An inscrutable expression flits across her face, then she looks up at Ayrenn. "I…am not worthy of such a gift."

"You are the only one worthy of this blade, Sielaire," Ayrenn says airily, though her heart aches for her partner. "It was, after all, made for you."

Sielaire's lips part, but no words follow. As she looks down at the blade again, Ayrenn grasps her arm and pulls her close. "You have to put yourself in such danger so frequently, and I wondered how best to protect you. I thought this is one way…"

Ayrenn nods at the sword, and Sielaire gazes at her impassively for a long moment, before a gentle smile curves her lips. Sielaire leans in to kiss her, and it is all Ayrenn can do to hold onto her partner, so she won't fall to her knees. It has been months since they've fallen together, nurturing an intimacy that warms and fills Ayrenn to the core. But she has yet to stop falling, every little thing Sielaire does making her heart skip a beat – Sielaire's voice, her touch, her quiet laughs, her kisses, and that smile which makes Ayrenn weak in the knees.

Her gaze is transfixed on that exact smile Sielaire wears as they part, and she can hardly think of doing anything but pulling her partner close once more. But Sielaire speaks, breaking the spell.

"This is how I will protect you as well."

Ever dutiful, and the thought brings a pang to Ayrenn's chest. Sielaire still sees her as the Queen first, and Ayrenn sometimes wonders if Sielaire cares for the Queen, or her. She stares back at Sielaire, perhaps for too long, as her partner cups her cheek, a tint of concern in those beautiful green eyes. Ayrenn grows soft, her insecurity falling away under the warmth on her skin, and she smiles softly.

"Thank you, Sielaire."

* * *

It is a year later that Ayrenn receives her answer. Sielaire loves both sides of her – the Queen, and the mer beneath the crown. Sielaire gives her loyalty and service to the Queen, and all the rest of her belongs to Ayrenn – the fiercest love and devotion that Ayrenn has ever encountered, which she cherishes and reciprocates in full. Sielaire loves her, _all_ of her, as no one else has done or even dared, and Ayrenn is resolved to never let this one important blessing slip from her fingers, as she had with so many past, broken chances.

But loss she still fears, even as she sits in the peacefulness of her own garden terrace with her beloved, caressing Sielaire's hand and the engagement ring worn on one slim finger. It is a simple yet elegant ring, and though Ayrenn would've loved to gift her partner something more elaborate, she knows discretion is still key in their relationship. A secret engagement, a secret wedding. It is an indignity, Ayrenn thinks, for one who has given so much to her. But her beloved only smiles whenever Ayrenn promises a proper wedding after the war has passed, and reassures her that this is more than enough.

Ayrenn turns her gaze up to Sielaire, whose eyes are fixed on the ring Ayrenn touches. As always, her lover's expression is unreadable while deep in thought, but Ayrenn knows Sielaire still feels doubt about their union. Sielaire doesn't voice it – only vows and promises fall from her lips, meant to soothe Ayrenn's worry. But there is still part of her, deep inside, which feels she isn't worthy of the Queen, and this knowledge makes Ayrenn afraid – afraid that Sielaire will pull away when the time has come, and allow the weight of the crown to crush this love they share.

Ayrenn swallows against the lump in her throat, and distracts herself by lifting Sielaire's hand, placing a kiss on her partner's knuckles. She smiles at Sielaire. "Are you nervous?"

Sielaire holds her gaze, before giving a small smile. "I am, yes."

Ayrenn smiles as well, though her heart squeezes in sympathy. "You won't change your mind, will you?" Ayrenn asks lightly, half in jest. Her heart stops when Sielaire's eyes turn to her sharply, and stares in quiet thought.

"I…do not change my mind easily," Sielaire replies, after a long moment of silence. She seems to want to speak more, but purses her lips after that.

Ayrenn waits, then prods. "Are you scared, Sie?"

A breath, then a sigh. "I am. Very much so."

"Don't be. I will keep things under control. You just have to trust me."

"I do trust you," Sielaire replies immediately, and the lack of hesitation warms Ayrenn's heart. "But I do not trust in fate."

"Fate is but a future of our own choosing, beloved." Ayrenn presses Sielaire's hand to her chest, to feel the beats of her aching heart. "And I choose to be with you. I will accept no other outcome."

Sielaire stares, frozen, before a quiet laugh falls from her lips. "When you speak like that, it is hard not to believe everything you say."

"You should, Sie. Here, look at me." Ayrenn clasps Sielaire chin, and raises her love's gaze. "Listen well. We may wed only in secret for now, but I will still be your wife, as you will be mine. And when the time comes, when we have brought peace to the land…you shall be my consort. I shall wed you before the Court, and all shall know that my heart belongs only to one."

Sielaire listens quietly, and Ayrenn notices with a bit of amusement, that her partner's complexion has paled a little. "Let's…take this one step at a time, shall we?"

Ayrenn laughs, then kisses her beloved. "Very well, then. We shall be united in simple matrimony – as wives. How does that sound?"

Though Sielaire is nervous, she smiles – and Ayrenn's heart is set at ease. "It is…perfect."

* * *

Their rings are exchanged in private, their hearts and souls promised to each other, for all eternity. Ayrenn has chosen to hold her beloved close, tightly enough that the world cannot tear Sielaire away with its cold, cruel fingers. But hold and fight as she may, she hasn't anticipated that the very one in her arms will step out of her embrace willingly – from her protection, from this safety she has built for themselves.

And Sielaire has done it all for _her_.

"It didn't have to be you!" Ayrenn utters, bringing her fist down on Sielaire's chest – a blow softened last minute. Her fist trembles, then uncurls, fingers digging into Sielaire's shirt. "It didn't have to be…"

Her head is bowed, eyes screwed shut to fight against the tears burgeoning to the surface, but she feels the gentleness with which Sielaire's arms circle around her, and pull her close. Swallowing painfully, Ayrenn forces her eyes open to look at her beloved, and Sielaire's wan smile nearly shatters her into pieces – not a hint of regret or resentment at Ayrenn. Just that same warmth with which Sielaire always carries for her wife.

"You act as if I will never come back," Sielaire says, humour dotting her soft tone.

Ayrenn wants to argue – Cyrodiil has turned into a war-torn, merciless land which has taken the lives of many Dominion scouts and soldiers, sent to snatch precious bits of land, from which to mount a proper assault on the Imperial City. An assault which Sielaire has volunteered for, and will throw her life into such peril that Ayrenn cannot bear to think of. Ayrenn, who has challenged and beaten death countless times, cannot bear to fathom the sure death which awaits her beloved.

She wants to argue, to _force_ her love to stay, but she cannot. She knows she will not win, and fights through the helplessness to look up at her wife. "You will come back, won't you? Swear to me."

"I will, dearest. I swear," Sielaire murmurs, touching their foreheads together. "Not even the chains of Oblivion will keep me from you."

Ayrenn's breath hitched, heart skipping at the steel in Sielaire's voice which she so loves, and she cannot help but believe. Their entwined fate rests in Sielaire's hands now.

* * *

Ayrenn's eyes open just in time to watch the brief second where lightning casts a stark light over her bedchambers, followed by a loud clap of thunder which shakes her to the bone. But she pays no attention to the weather. Her breathing is ragged, heart beating fast from the moment she'd woken, paralysed by an overwhelming sense of fear. She is _terrified_. Wide eyes flicker about to find the source of her fear, but finds nothing until she turns inward, and realises she's had a…dream. A nightmare. Potent lightning striking her very being, ripping her asunder from within.

" _Sie_." The name falls from her trembling lips, and she doesn't know if she seeks comfort…or something else.

Fear overlaps fear as Ayrenn suddenly feels frightened for her wife. Why? Why, _why?_

Unable to close her eyes or calm her nerves, Ayrenn slides out of the bed, and paces an unsteady circuit around the room. Her fingers wring together as sense starts to take hold, and she realises the fear is not for herself, but for Sielaire. Why? What has happened? _How_ does she know? Is it even true?

Questions make her head spin, and Ayrenn glances at the door repeatedly, before making her decision. She flies out of her room, bare feet shuffling over plush carpet as she ignores the calls of her guards behind her. She walks in a daze, and doesn't bother knocking on the door she opens. She enters Alwinarwe's chambers, shutting the door behind her, and goes to sit on Alwin's bed. Ayrenn hesitates for a long while, staring at her cousin's peaceful visage, before setting a hand on Alwin's arm. That's all she needs to do – Alwinarwe rouses blearily, turning over as her eyes land on the visitor.

"Ayrenn?" Alwin says, syllables slurred in sleepiness.

"Alwin, I–" Breath catches in Ayrenn's throat, and she struggles to speak. "I… May I stay here for the night?"

Alwin groans, and waves a hand dismissively. "I'm not in the mood for another one of your games, Ayrenn."

"Please."

The hushed plea gives Alwin pause, and her eyes flicker to Ayrenn, taking in her stricken expression. Slowly, she sits up, eyeing her cousin warily. "What happened?"

"I–, I know this won't make sense," Ayrenn says, voice quivering. "But I know Sielaire is in trouble. I don't know how, but I can _feel_ it. She's in trouble, in _pain_."

A firm hand clasps her arm. "You've just had a nightmare, Ayrenn," Alwin says gently. "And there's a thunderstorm tonight. You're just confused by a dream, and the thunder–"

"I am _not_ confused!" Ayrenn barks, then catches herself. Shame washes over her, and her mind backpedals. "I'm sorry. I just… I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone–"

Alwin sighs, and catches her by the arm before she starts to rise. "You can stay here, if you want to. And…" Alwin's voice trails off as she tucks a lock of hair behind Ayrenn's ear. "About Sielaire. Even if she's in trouble, there is little you can do from here, until her next report."

Ayrenn's hand curls into a fist on the sheets. "I know," she growls, throat tight. "It's my fault, Alwin, I shouldn't have sent her there."

"She volunteered for it, Ayrenn. Besides, it is her duty as battlereeve–"

"I know it's her duty, damn it! You can't imagine how many bloody times I've had to hear it from her mouth!" Regret rises in Ayrenn once more, but contrary to her expectation, Alwin doesn't chide her. Instead, she cups Ayrenn's cheek.

"Sielaire promised she would come back, didn't she?" Alwin asks, and Ayrenn nods. "I know her to be a mer of her word. She will come back."

"And if she comes back…wounded? Broken?"

"Then we will help her heal," Alwin replies, so matter-of-fact that it steadies Ayrenn in the moment.

She realises Alwinarwe's point – there is nothing they can do for now. But when the opportunity presents itself…

Ayrenn nods, screwing her eyes up to squeeze the tears lingering there, and wipes them away roughly. With Alwin's hands on her shoulders, Ayrenn is guided into the empty spot beside Alwin, where she crawls beneath the thick comforter, and feels just a bit safer there, beside her cousin. Alwin lies on her side, and keeps a hand on Ayrenn's arm, which she strokes gently. Ayrenn smiles, and curls up closer to her cousin.

"Thanks, Alwin."

A lazy hum is the only reply she needs.

* * *

Sielaire doesn't report directly to the Queen for the next two months, and it frays Ayrenn's nerves. She'd first received a report that Battlereeve Sielaire had been presumed killed in action, then a week later, another reporting her return. Ayrenn had waited, and waited, but Sielaire remained silent. Eventually, no word is needed – Ayrenn deems it fit to pull their troops out of the Imperial City to regroup, and orders Battlereeve Sielaire to return to Alinor and deliver a full report on the invasion.

The sight of Sielaire, haggard and shamed and _defeated_ , rends Ayrenn's heart deeper than the news of her presumed death ever did. Sielaire tries to avoid her, but Ayrenn is not dissuaded, coaxing and pleading her love back to her side, to speak whatever words Sielaire can muster. It is painstakingly slow – Sielaire is not the type to divulge her own suffering easily. But she does, after weeks of patient care and love. Sielaire is then convinced to receive therapy for the trauma that Cyrodiil has left on her psyche, and Ayrenn is more than happy to walk the slow path of recovery with her, step by step.

And one day, under the gentle sunshine of a cloudy morning, Sielaire finally wears that gentle smile reserved for Ayrenn, which makes her heart flutter. Ayrenn kisses her softly then, a simple affection, a welcome home, and a vow. Sielaire shall never be parted from her side again. If her love shall throw herself into the chaos of war, then Ayrenn will be at her side, fighting not only for the fate of her people or the world, but for themselves as well.

* * *

It takes six grueling years of war. Six years of battle and pain and arguments, during which their bond never once wavered, staying strong and fierce despite the torrent of blood which tries to quench it. Sielaire serves and protects her Queen, as the Queen does for her, until the battlereeve wins a critical duel which finally casts the Dominion's victory in stone. Cheer follows, then two more tiring years of diplomacy, reparation, and reconciliation, as Ayrenn works to unite the unique races of Tamriel into a single, diverse yet harmonious coalition. And when peace finally settles over Tamriel, Ayrenn brings her personal dream to fruition.

A grand wedding is held in Alinor, where the newly-crowned Empress Ayrenn weds her love, and walks proudly with High Kinlady Sielaire's hand in her arm, in front of her people for the first time. The day of the wedding ceremony is hectic, and it is only late in the night when Ayrenn is able to be alone with Sielaire in their bedchamber.

Ayrenn gazes at her wife, dressed in an elegant gown, with the silver Consort's crown on her head, and feels her life falling together. She raises her hands, and Sielaire closes the distance, allowing Ayrenn to cup her face, staring at Sielaire's stunning visage which bears every bit of royalty, as she deserves.

"We've done it," Ayrenn says, and her love smiles. "After all these years of fighting, we are finally in a future of our own making."

"It is all thanks to you, beloved," Sielaire murmurs, resting their heads together.

Their eyes fall shut, as Ayrenn clasps her wife's shoulders. She takes a deep breath, savouring Sielaire's delightful perfume. "You as well, dear. Now it is time to make a life together."

Ayrenn doesn't have to open her eyes to know Sielaire is smiling. Her love embraces her with strong arms, and meets her lips in a firm, ardent kiss.

* * *

 **A/N:** Been re-reading Raison again (yes hush) and spotted a few more gaps I wanted to fill. Now it's Ayrenn's turn to pine. heheh


	31. Aldmeri - 9

"Mama."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I wanna walk."

"Aw." Sielaire puts on her puppy eyes, looking at her daughter with a slight pout. "But mama wants to carry you."

"Yeah," Astaire says. "But I wanna walk."

"Oh, honey. But you can walk plenty when you're all grown up and so tall that mama can't carry you anymore," Sielaire coos. "Is it okay for mama to hold you longer while you're still small?"

Astaire's lips press together in a pout similar to Sielaire's, though hers is thoughtful as she gazes at her mother in silence. The three-year-old has developed a tendency to listen, then think over what has been told to her, before replying or making a decision. A wise trait to have, even if Sielaire knows the child needs more time to digest a conversation, but she hopes Astaire will keep this habit as she matures. Some caution like Sielaire's may help temper any wilder whim Astaire may inherit from Ayrenn.

"Okay," Astaire decides. "Mama can carry me."

Sielaire smiles, hearing Ayrenn's chuckle by her side, at the command-like tone of Astaire's. "Thank you, dear," she croons, kissing the girl's cheek. "I'll let you walk in the house. Promise."

"Promise," Astaire repeats, clutching at the scarf around Sielaire's neck as she turns her head to scan the orchards across the main road.

They are paying a visit to Sielaire's family home, as is their newfound annual tradition since their adoption of Astaire. This isn't just a simple vacation away from the palace – it's a chance for Astaire to familiarise herself with the larger family, and to keep in touch with a side of Summerset not rigidly-bound by the rules and dogma of the aristocracy. Or, as Ayrenn puts it – a nice counterpoint to Alwinarwe's royal influence.

Sielaire had been worried at first, thinking Astaire would be so used to the comforts of the palace, that she'd have trouble adjusting to life in the countryside. But Sielaire's fears were dispelled during the toddler's second visit to the orchards, when she'd taken to her grandparents and the apple farm with such zeal, that Sielaire was nearly in disbelief. Nearly. She was reassured, though, and had stoked Astaire's enthusiasm plenty before their visit this time.

She casts her eyes around the homestead, as Ayrenn slips a hand through her elbow. It feels good to be back – the plain, simple quality of the orchards always serves to remind Sielaire where she'd come from, and where she will always belong…despite her purposefully annoying complaints about the 'overabundance' of apples to her family.

Smiling to herself, Sielaire catches Ayrenn's eye briefly as they walk up the path to the villa. It has expanded much since the family had been elevated to nobility, though not too much, out of Sielaire's parents preference for modesty. They have added more rooms and workspaces for each member of the family – even Sielaire, who is rarely home – and replaced the woods and stones to polished, rich materials which won't look out of place in an Alinor manor.

Sielaire eyes the new chandelier in the foyer, while Ayrenn calls out to the family – and soon, the languid clicks of heels on red oak floors approaches them, followed by a gentle squeal from Sielaire's mother which greets Astaire's similar sound of joy.

"My little sweetie pie!" Lirinwe swoops in and lifts Astaire from Sielaire's arms without ceremony, hugging the girl as little arms wind around her neck as well. "Grandma has missed you so!"

"I missed gramma too," Astaire giggles, being shaken playfully in Lirinwe's firm hug, before she's guided to sit in the matron's arms. "And I miss apple pie."

"Here we go," Sielaire deadpans, while Lirinwe launches into her oft-repeated lines.

"Of course, darling. Grandma's made apple pie for you. She knows how your mama deprives you of your beloved apple pies; such cruelty, such callousness–"

"Mom," Sielaire cuts in with a sigh. "Nice to see you too."

A smile gives Lirinwe away, and she pats Sielaire fondly on the head, before turning to Ayrenn. "And Ayrenn – always good to have you back…with my own daughter in tow."

Sielaire rolls her eyes as Ayrenn hugs Lirinwe, who nods at a hallway and leads them down the west wing, towards a parlour already suffused with fragrance from the kitchen. They set their bags down while Lirinwe bustles off to the kitchen, then emerges soon after carrying a platter with a porcelain tea set, some petite tarts, and two pies – one of which is–

"Apple pie!" Astaire exclaims as Lirinwe sets the platter on the table.

"That's right. Grandma baked it just for you, little Star."

"Yay!" Astaire hops off the couch where Sielaire has seated her, and goes to stand by the table while Lirinwe slices a generous portion for her granddaughter.

"This is all yours," Lirinwe sings, handing the plate to Astaire, who plops herself right on the carpet and starts digging in with a fork. "Look at my darling granddaughter… Such appreciation for her roots, unlike her ungrateful rascal of a mother."

Sielaire raises her eyes heavenwards as Ayrenn receives a plate of apple pie herslf. "Her roots are not of your apples, mom. In case you forgot."

"Oh, what does it matter? She's ours now. The apple of our eye, you could say."

"Gods, save me," Sielaire groans. She looks around for some sympathy from her wife, but finds only a crooked smile instead.

"This is going to be fun," Ayrenn says.

"For you."

But Sielaire's pout is chased away when Lirinwe offers her a plate with a large serving of pumpkin pie, complete with a dollop of cream on top.

"Still your favourite?" Lirinwe asks, though she doesn't have to – her knowing smile tells all.

A sheepish smile curves Sielaire's lips as she takes the plate. "Still my favourite…"

* * *

They don't stay in the homestead for too long, lingering for another day to let Astaire meet her grandfather, uncle, and aunt after they've returned from Shimmerene. And after the night of a proper family reunion, Sielaire and Ayrenn tuck Astaire into bed early, in anticipation of the next few days to come.

When the sun rises, Sielaire indulges in the rare opportunity to snuggle up to her wife, arms wrapped around Ayrenn in a cozy embrace. When sunlight spills through their window, and a small bundle of energy crawls onto their bed and calls their name, they rouse with lazy smiles, trapping Astaire in their arms for one last cuddle before rising.

Breakfast is served by Lirinwe as always, but this morning, their scones and eggs are accompanied with continuous fretting over their journey ahead. It isn't very long or taxing, truth be told, but Sielaire nods quietly as Lirinwe sets one pastry after another into a cloth bundle, meant to fend off hunger while they're camping, or just to act as a dessert for whatever meals they'll cook up while living in the elements.

Her mother's worrying follows them all the way to the stables, where they secure packs of provisions to their horses, and relent to having one sack of apples tied to the pack straps, before waving Lirinwe goodbye and trotting off into the open fields beside the orchards.

Camping outside the homestead is nothing new for Sielaire and Ayrenn. After all, it's been a perfect way to spend time alone together during these visits. This is, however, a first for Astaire – in fact, she's never even ridden a horse before. Sielaire can't help but smile when she looks to the side, where Ayrenn rides beside her, with the little mer sitting in the saddle. Astaire is secured to her mother by way of a scarf, wrapped around their waists and secured with a knot, so the child won't fall off on accident. Still, Ayrenn remains cautious, keeping an arm around Astaire as the girl giggles and swings her legs.

"Do you like riding horses, Star?" Ayrenn asks.

"Yeah!"

"Want to learn how to ride one yourself when you're older?"

"Yeah!"

Ayrenn chuckles when Astaire grabs at the reins eagerly. "When you're older, darling. We have to wait until you're taller, okay?"

The girl pouts. "Okay."

"So we are getting her that indrik, then?" Sielaire asks.

"Of course," Ayrenn replies, gently slipping the reins from Astaire's fingers. "When she's a little older. I'm thinking we should get her a foal, so they can grow up together. Builds deeper bonds, and all that."

"Sure." Sielaire lowers her gaze to Astaire, who didn't seem to hear a word her mothers had said. The girl is holding her hands up in the air, wiggling her fingers as she feels the air passing through them.

Ayrenn notices Astaire's gesture as well, and a playful grin parts her lips. "Want to go faster, Star?"

"Renn–"

"Yes, faster!"

Sielaire's heart plummets when Ayrenn turns to wink at her. Fortunately, her dread is quickly dissipated when Ayrenn nudges her horse into a swift yet gentle trot – enough speed to give the young one some thrill, but not fast enough that it'll rock Astaire dangerously on the saddle. Not that the girl minds – or is even aware – the slight increase in speed has her shrieking in delight, waving her hands in the air rushing past them.

 _So easily entertained_ , Sielaire muses with a quiet laugh, though it's soothed over with tenderness when Ayrenn turns her head, blue eyes meeting green.

 _Then again, so am I_.

* * *

They take their horses on a long, meandering route through the fields to give Astaire some quality time on the saddle, before steering their steeds towards the flower-dotted meadow which is their favourite place to set up camp. Sielaire had first found this area with her siblings over a century ago, then introduced it to Ayrenn in their first foray out of the homestead. And now, it is Astaire's turn – the girl voices her delight at the bright hues of the flowers amid the field of healthy green grass, and they stop briefly to pick some for Astaire, before moving onto the woods in the corner of the meadow.

Trees offer them some shade from the midday sun, as they reach the shallow, gentle stream and follow it upwards, finally reaching that one spot by the water which they've used over the years. They dismount and take the packs from their horses, then allow their mounts to wander off in search of a suitable patch of grass to graze on, safe in the knowledge that the horses are well-trained enough to return to them.

As Ayrenn starts setting up their tent, Sielaire plops Astaire down on the grass by the river, and hands her some biscuits to munch on while they set up their campsite. The girl nods when instructed not to wander off, and Sielaire ruffles her short blonde locks before stepping away to help Ayrenn with the tent.

With so many years of experience tucked under their belt, it takes them mere minutes to erect the tent, and lay out their bedrolls and belongings within. Sielaire grabs the cooking supplies, while Ayrenn takes the small stack of wood they've brought with them, and starts making a campfire for their midday meal. A simple fire spell makes this task trivial, and soon Sielaire sets over the fire a pot of soup they've prepped back home, tossing into the vegetable broth some dry noodles to cook along with the lukewarm chicken strips.

Ayrenn sighs from the work and sits on the grass, undoing a paper package of Lirinwe's pastries. Sielaire picks one and crunches on the crispy treat, looking back at the spot where she'd left Astaire. The girl's no longer sitting on the ground, munching on her biscuits – instead, she's standing in the stream with the running water reaching up to her ankles, staring down at the clear water with quiet wonder. Then Astaire squats down, reaching a hand into the water to run her fingers over a rock, before drawing her hand back and slapping it into the water's surface, causing a small splash that makes her cackle uncontrollably.

Sielaire chuckles along with the child. This is a freedom which Astaire can't have in the palace. The freedom to explore of her own will, and not be coddled as royal heir to the point where she cannot interact with her surroundings freely, as any other child would. It gives her the chance to grow as her own person, away from royal rules and restrictions. Even Alwinarwe had agreed that this trip will be good for Astaire – admitting with a poorly-hidden grimace that this very experience away from the confines of Alinor and Summerset has served Ayrenn well as Queen. Although, Sielaire doesn't want to think that far yet – merely content to steal some time for Astaire to have simple, childish fun.

Allowing Astaire more time to splash and jump about in the stream, Sielaire waits before calling, "Astaire, come over. It's almost lunch time."

"Lunch time?" Astaire repeats, turning around to skip back to her parents. She reaches a hand towards the cooking pot, but Ayrenn is quick to grab her by the wrist before she burns herself.

"Yes, Star," Ayrenn replies, distracting her. "Remember that chicken soup mama was making back home?"

"Yeah." Astaire nods. "I like chicken soup. Does it have noodles?"

"Of course it does, honey. We know it's your favourite." Ayrenn takes the soup ladle, and motions for Astaire to hold onto its handle. Closing her hand over the girl's, she guides Astaire to dip the ladle into the soup, and scoops up a full portion of chicken, chopped vegetables, and noodles.

Astaire's eyes grow wide. "I'm hungry."

"Me too. But it has to cook a little longer, alright? It's still cold."

"Okay."

Astaire seems reluctant to let go of the ladle, so Ayrenn lets her hold onto it, stirring the soup now and again at her own whim. While Ayrenn reaches for another piece of pastry, Sielaire's gaze remains on Astaire, ready to intervene should the girl venture too close to the pot. But her attention is distracted when she spots motion out of the corner of her eye, and her body tenses as she looks up, spotting a pair of welwa approaching the stream on the opposite bank.

The creatures don't seem to have noticed them yet, dipping their heads down for a drink of water. But after they've slurped enough, their heads rise in the camp's direction, beady black eyes staring back at Sielaire – who realises her own mistake.

Quickly, she lowers her gaze back to the pot and, catching Ayrenn's curious gaze, whispers, "Welwa. Four o'clock."

Ayrenn hums, tilting her head, but not saying anything. Long minutes pass as the mer seem absorbed in their own business, not paying a single second's attention to the welwa, until the creatures finally lose interest and wander off.

"They're gone."

"Wards tonight?" Ayrenn says.

"Wards every night," Sielaire replies. Though she knows the meadow is a safe area, her mind starts planning the layout of wards which she'll set around their tent at night.

* * *

Truth be told, there isn't much they can do with Astaire around. Well – not much of what they'll usually do, which includes hunting, and finding dark caverns or ruins to venture into. With the girl in mind, they keep their activities light – like frolicking among the flowers in the meadow, finding a lake where they can teach Astaire how to swim, visiting an animal farm nearby, and reading children's storybooks under the light of the moon and stars.

Soon enough, three days have passed, and Astaire has started asking if they can go back to see the family and pick apples again. So they pack their bags on the fourth morning, and ride back towards the orchards on their horses – this time, with Ayrenn allowing Astaire to hold onto the reins, getting more than a few laughs out of the girl as she shook the straps in her hands.

They reach the homestead in the early afternoon, when Astaire bursts into the kitchen with an excited squeal upon her arrival, and is promptly spirited away by her grandparents for some pampering. Not that Sielaire or Ayrenn minds – they take the time to clean and pack away their camping supplies, then head out to Virano's cabin by the river for some time to themselves.

Only in the evening are they willing to part from each other's arms, and walk hand-in-hand back home for a hot, hearty dinner full of their favourite comfort foods, which leaves both their hearts and stomachs feeling full to bursting. Still, they nurse an extra dessert by the hearth – warm apple pie with ice cream – while chatting lazily with Virano and Rilenya. That is, chatting when Sielaire isn't embroiled in spirited, but light-hearted bickering with her two siblings.

By the last hour before midnight, they've all been knocked out by their full stomachs and late night, lounging in the parlour on plush pillows, occasionally taking a sip of cider to soothe their overstuffed tummies. Sielaire is the first to rise among this lazy lot, dragging her dozing wife up the stairs for a bath before bed. And while Ayrenn opts to soak longer in soapy water, Sielaire climbs out of the tub and dresses, heading back to their bedroom to check on her last concern for the day.

Sure enough, she finds Astaire already lying in the bed – having been carried out of the parlour by her grandfather. Now, her grandmother sits beside her, singing a bedtime lullaby and stroking her arm, despite the girl having fallen asleep. Sielaire huffs to herself quietly, understanding all too well the reluctance to leave her little girl alone, even after her duty to her child is done.

Padding quietly over the wooden floor, Sielaire goes to sit with her mother, gently running her fingertips through Astaire's hair.

"Thanks, mom," Sielaire murmurs softly.

"No need, darling." Lirinwe smiles. When her gaze lingers on Sielaire, it earns her a curious look.

"Something on my face?" Sielaire asks, and Lirinwe snorts.

"Yes." Lirinwe prods at her cheek with a finger. "There's a wrinkle here… Your age is showing."

Sielaire scoffs. "Not as much as yours."

"As it should. I am getting old. You, on the other hand…"

"I'm still young, I know."

"Yet you feel so much older than before."

Sielaire's eyes flicker to her mother, searching but not finding the trace of humour she'd expected to see. "Do I?"

"Yes," Lirinwe replies. "Sometimes it feels like you're growing so much faster than I can keep up."

A breath passes her lips. "A lot of things are happening, mom. Especially in the palace. Sometimes it feels like I can't even keep up with myself." Sielaire's gaze grows faraway in thought, before she gives her mother a smile. "I suppose this is where you'll tell me to come home more often?"

"It will do you good. And we'll get to see you more than just once a year." Lirinwe mirrors her smile. "But I know your duties will have to come first, hm?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Lirinwe replies quickly, and cups her daughter's cheek. "If anything…I _am_ proud of you. Have I ever told you that?"

"Yeah. When I came home from the war with Ayrenn? You said you were proud that I even managed to find my way home." Sielaire's smile cracks into a crooked grin when Lirinwe bends her ear.

"Don't twist my words, little rascal," Lirinwe laughs, nudging Sielaire's head none-too-lightly. She gently pats Astaire's blanket-covered legs one last time, then rises to her feet, straightening her dress. "Now, it's getting late. Off to bed with you."

"But I want to wait–"

"No arguments," Lirinwe clucks, hands on hips, then points at the bed. "In bed, now."

"You can't order me around," Sielaire protests, as Lirinwe grabs her arm. "I'm the Empress Consort, the High Kinlady–"

"And I am the High Kinlady's mother." Lirinwe guides Sielaire to the bed, where her daughter lies down obediently with an exasperated, amused smile as she draws the covers up to Sielaire's chest. And as she pecks her daughter's forehead, the door swings open, and Ayrenn's voice drifts through.

"Ooh! Are we getting tucked in? Wait for me!"

Sielaire turns her head to watch Ayrenn fling her towel aside, then dive into bed, where she wriggles into place right beside Sielaire. Lirinwe laughs softly, careful not to wake the sleeping child, and bends down to kiss Ayrenn's forehead as well.

"See, at least the Empress herself behaves much better than you."

"Oh, the irony…" Sielaire mumbles, as Lirinwe tucks Ayrenn in as well, then puts out the candles as she leaves the room. Sielaire rolls onto her side, draping an arm over Ayrenn. "You've got my mom all bamboozled, now. Congratulations."

"It's my charm," Ayrenn croons, dipping in to kiss Sielaire, before snuggling up to her wife. "You know it well, don't you?"

"Too well, love," Sielaire sighs, squeezing Ayrenn in her arms. "All too well."

* * *

The skies are clear, and the sun shines bright and warm upon the earth. While the workers are busy in the orchards, taking advantage of the good weather, Ayrenn and Sielaire have run off on their own after leaving Astaire in Lirinwe's care. In their hands are the wooden training swords which Sielaire has kept in her room, and their destination is the clearing beside Virano's cabin to the north, where Sielaire has spent much of her early youth training in the martial arts by herself.

Ayrenn is the one to suggest this sparring practice, and after days of lackadaisical luxury, the warrior in Sielaire cries out for action, and drives the woman to agree. After all, this practice will be a great way to exercise and have some fun – which her wife obviously has in mind as well.

After strapping on their sparring leathers, they bow to each other as is custom, and hold their swords at ready. Sielaire's eyes rest on her wife, planning to allow Ayrenn the first move, then is taken aback when her wife pounces in what seems like a haphazard line to herself, nearly making Sielaire burst in laughter. Nearly – that's the key word, because Ayrenn suddenly lunges at Sielaire from an impossible angle, and Sielaire is forced to raise her sword at the last minute, blocking a strike which would've crushed her throat.

Ayrenn clicks her tongue. "Careful, battlereeve. I would never want to hurt my wife."

Sielaire smirks, meeting her partner's eyes steadily. "You can try, Your Majesty."

Ayrenn hums in that low, husky pitch which distracts Sielaire briefly – and she flies into action once more, shoving Sielaire back with her sword, and kicks the back of her knee, sending her to the ground. "Seems I don't even have to try, sweetheart."

"You're asking for it," Sielaire rumbles.

"When do I never?"

Ayrenn's flippant reply coaxes a grin from Sielaire, who lunges at her wife without warning, sending Ayrenn on the defensive. Sielaire doesn't let up, swinging strike after strike at Ayrenn, never giving her partner a chance to breathe. When it seems Ayrenn is backed into a corner, Sielaire rears her sword back to the final blow – but is stopped by a sudden lance of pain in her arm, originating from her elbow, where Ayrenn's blade has slammed into.

"Ow!"

"Oh, I'll kiss it later," Ayrenn sings, her blade flashing forward in another strike, which Sielaire blocks. "And if you want me to kiss you all over…"

"We'll see who kisses who," Sielaire replies off-handedly, focused on the slick, agile movements of Ayrenn's feet. Her wife has adopted a sword dance from a Khajiit kata, and Sielaire quickly shifts her state of mind in anticipation of the swift and seemingly-random moves to come.

Sure enough, Ayrenn delivers. In Sielaire's opinion, the Altmer does look quite ridiculous prancing energetically without a tail, her backside wiggling where it requires the Khajiit to hold their tails in certain angles. But Sielaire cannot deny the effectiveness of this sword dance - be it wielded by a Khajiit or not. She suffers many hard strokes on her leathers while she adjusts to this style, but years of sparring with her wife allows her to adapt quickly enough to deliver as many counter strikes on Ayrenn's body.

The proud smile on Ayrenn's face sends that same rush through Sielaire as it always has, buoying Sielaire's heart as she takes the initiative this time, and rushes towards Ayrenn. Growing nimbler with each stroke, Sielaire's feet finally finds its rhythm to match Ayrenn's. She parries and knocks Ayrenn's blade aside, sending her wife stumbling forward, while she hops to the back and smacks the flat of her blade on Ayrenn's ass.

Ayrenn bursts into a laugh. "Is that a new move, Sie?"

"Maybe. Would you like to help me refine it?" Sielaire deadpans.

"Only if you promise to use it only on me."

"Deal," Sielaire laughs, raising her sword. "Although I would much prefer using my hands…"

"You can use your hands if you win this round, darling," Ayrenn purrs, lowering herself into a wide combat stance. "And if you knock me on my back…I'll allow you to use more than your hands."

Sielaire's heart beats faster from adrenaline not borne of exercise, and her lips unfurl into a grin. " _'If'_?" Sielaire repeats, voice smooth and slick. "You do remember that _I_ am the better warrior, right?"

Ayrenn merely smiles at her taunt. "That's what I'm counting on, my dear battlereeve."


	32. Chapter 32

Sielaire hasn't even opened her eyes, but she knows something is wrong even as she struggles to do so. Her body is sluggish, heavy, and her muscles are tensed in minute shivers from air which feels unnaturally chilly on her skin – which is well-covered by the thick blanket draped over her.

 _Auri-El...making a fool of me…_

She would groan, but the dense thickness in her throat blocks most of the sound she tries to make, and she clears her throat, feeling it ache in protest. Nose blocked, she breathes through her mouth, and a frown creases her forehead as she rolls onto her side, preparing herself for some exertion. Bracing her palms against the mattress, Sielaire pushes herself up – a simple task made strenuous by a body straining against her very will. Or, punishing her for her foolish obstinacy, which has dragged on for much too long.

Her head spins when she sits upright, and Sielaire decides it is indeed a punishment. How dearly she wants to crumple back onto the mattress, and sink into unconsciousness once more, blissfully unaware of her physical discomfort. Sniffling from the tickle in her nose, Sielaire turns her head, and finds Ayrenn's spot in the bed empty. Her wife must've risen earlier than her – a rare occurrence – and faint shuffling from the bathroom tells where Ayrenn has gone. Normally, Sielaire would love to join her wife, and treat her to a lazy hug or kiss which makes Ayrenn wrinkle her nose in that special, playful manner only visible in the early mornings.

But not this time – Sielaire much prefers to stay in bed where she sits, and that is where she remains in a mindless daze, until the bathroom's door is swung open.

"You're finally up, sleepyhead," Ayrenn teases, setting her towel on a hanger. "And here I thought _I_ was the lazy one among us two."

Sielaire tries to grumble, but only manages a deep rumble in her throat.

"Are you alright, love?"

Sielaire remains still when Ayrenn approaches. "No," she rasps, and her wife understands the simple answer in an instant.

Ayrenn touches Sielaire's neck, then her forehead. "You're burning up," she observes. "I _told_ you that you had a fever last night. But you wouldn't listen, would you?"

Sielaire mumbles an excuse that neither Ayrenn nor herself can hear. "I have things to do…"

"Oh no, you don't." Ayrenn sets a firm hand on her shoulder when she tries to stand, and pushes her back to the bed. "Whatever you have to do, Alwin and I will handle it just fine. You just lie down here, and let me get a healer for you. And no," Ayrenn intones with a hint of warning as she walks away, turning around to raise a finger at Sielaire, who has started to rise to her feet. "If you get up from this bed, I can and will have you locked in this room until you're well again."

Despite herself, a smile breaks over the long-suffering expression on Sielaire's face. "You cannot do that."

"Try me," Ayrenn challenges, tossing an incredulous look over her shoulder, before pulling her nightshirt over her head.

Sielaire's smile grows, and she is so tempted to rebel against her Empress' orders, just to see what happens. But her body demands otherwise, so she stays on the bed, eyes fixed on Ayrenn's toned back, which is quickly hidden by the richer, more respectable silk shirt Ayrenn has chosen. Her wife prefers a shirt-and-pants attire for a day kept clear of meetings – and Sielaire suddenly wonders if Ayrenn has deliberately arranged today's schedule in particular…

Once dressed, Ayrenn walks back to the bed and sets her hands on Sielaire's shoulders once more. This time, she guides her wife to lie down, and draws the covers up to Sielaire's shoulders.

"I've been telling you to see the healer since last week," Ayrenn chides gently, while she bends down to kiss Sielaire's warm forehead.

"I had many things to do," Sielaire croaks.

"I'd rather you focus on your health, my dear."

"Big words from someone I've had to lose so much blood for."

"Touché," Ayrenn chuckles, dipping down again to kiss Sielaire on the lips, but pauses when Sielaire turns her head away.

"No. I don't want to infect you."

"You won't," Ayrenn murmurs, ghosting her lips.

"I've heard that lie back in the war," Sielaire deadpans.

"And you will believe it now as you did back then," Ayrenn croons, closing the distance to kiss her fully on the lips.

For the briefest moment, Sielaire is free of affliction, and mourns the loss of her elixir when Ayrenn pulls away. _'Stay here for today?'_ Sielaire wants to ask, but silences the question before it's voiced. She knows Ayrenn has as much on her own plate as Sielaire's, and doesn't want to hinder her wife with a childish need for companionship and care.

So she stays quiet, and pulls the covers tighter around herself, watching Ayrenn glance back at her one last time, before leaving through the door. Sielaire sighs, but her clingy desire dies down as silence settles over her, and her eyelids fall shut. She isn't one for slowing down from her busy schedule just to rest, but now…she will make an exception. If only to keep Ayrenn from lecturing her.

Oh, who is she kidding? Sielaire does love to be the one listening to her wife's lectures and nags, for a change.

* * *

Although Sielaire keeps mum about her wish, Ayrenn does stay with Sielaire for the day, and the days after, keeping an eye on her sick wife while studying countless documents vying for her attention. She makes an effort to care for Sielaire herself, though she takes care to keep a healthy distance from Sielaire at her wife's insistence – even if she finds pleasure in sneaking a caress or kiss from time to time, smirking at Sielaire's reproachful pout every time she does so.

Nonetheless, Sielaire is grateful for her wife's companionship – not just because she is ill, but also due to Ayrenn's impending departure from Summerset, and yet another prolonged separation.

It is five days after Sielaire has taken sabbatical to recover; her stubborn fever has just broken, and she feels well enough to escort Ayrenn to the palace's courtyard. With Ayrenn's hand on her arm, Sielaire strolls through the palace's hallways with her wife, basking in her closeness until they've entered the courtyard, sunshine bathing them in its warm embrace. The Empress' entourage is ready – the horses and carriage, which Ayrenn will spent little time sitting in, stands waiting alongside the attendants, who straighten at her approach. With this train, Ayrenn will travel by land to Shimmerene, where she'll take a ship to Firsthold for a visit to the Kinlord, before heading to Elden Root via portal for the Thalmor meeting.

Sielaire stares at the horses, wishing briefly she could accompany her wife on the long journey, before a touch on her cheek distracts her.

"Take care of yourself," Ayrenn says, cupping her face. "Rest well, and don't you dare dream of going to your office. We've only just broken your fever."

Sielaire wants to pout – from Ayrenn's lecture and imminent departure. But in front of all their subjects, Sielaire keeps herself respectable and nods with a smile, turning her head to kiss Ayrenn's palm. "I will try, Your Majesty."

Ayrenn sighs. "That's good enough, I suppose." She clasps Sielaire's chin, and guides her down for a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you more."

Ayrenn laughs as quietly as Sielaire has said it, then tweaks her wife's nose before climbing into the carriage. While her entourage takes their respective places, Ayrenn pops her head through the carriage's window.

"And listen to Alwin. She'll take care of you."

"Not if I take care of her first," Sielaire mumbles, knowing full well that she'll miss Ayrenn's mellow fussing while she receives Alwinarwe's stern raps on the wrist.

A crooked grin parts Ayrenn's lips. "You never are yourself when you're ill."

Sielaire mirrors Ayrenn's smile. "Come back soon?"

"I will, dear heart." Ayrenn reaches out to run her fingers along Sielaire's cheek, then gestures at a guard – a command for the entourage to move.

Sielaire's eyes remain on Ayrenn's until the carriage starts rolling away, and her wife sits back in her cushioned seat. She waits longer, and when the carriage has ridden out of sight, she turns back to the palace with a sniffle.

"Don't cry, Your Grace," Earilas chimes in as he falls into step behind Sielaire. "Didn't the Empress say she'll be back soon?"

"Oh, shut up," Sielaire growls. She rolls her eyes with a smile when she hears a giggle from her closest guard.

* * *

Before her departure, Ayrenn has repeated herself over and over, warning Sielaire not to enter her own office until she is well. And it is with good reason – she knows all too well that Sielaire will stray back into her office anyway, and be distracted with a minor task at first, then get slowly mired in more and more work, until she is trapped there without realising it.

And this is exactly what has happened just two days after Ayrenn has left. Sielaire's back in her office, seated at her desk by the windows, reading military reports under the sun's morning light, with a frown of concentration between her brows. This peaceful concentration is broken, however, when the door is swung open after two short knocks – as is typical of Alwinarwe.

Sielaire looks up and, sure enough, she finds the Proxy Queen striding into her office with that particular expression of disapproval and disappointment, designed to instill the deepest feelings of regret and guilt in its target. And even though Sielaire knows that Alwin can scarcely do anything to her, she _has_ been caught red-handed, and the quill in her hand slows down as she meets Alwin's death stare.

"I thought the Empress herself had forbidden you from working."

"Did you really think it would work?"

"Shall I do so as well? Perhaps enact a royal decree which forbids the Empress Consort from working when she should be resting?" Alwin arches her own brow to match Sielaire's growing expression of incredulity. "Your wife did leave you under my care."

"How the tables have turned," Sielaire says drily.

"I am being serious, Sielaire. Put that quill down, and stop working. I know all too well that fatigue won't do you any good while you're still recovering."

Sielaire eyes Alwinarwe warily, though she knows the advice comes with good intentions – after all, Alwin herself had collapsed once from overexertion. But Sielaire isn't quite finished yet, and steels herself against the near-palpable glare as she brings her quill back to the parchment, scribbling down the last few lines in her draft of garrison logistics. One full minute later, Sielaire sets the quill down – just before Alwin's brow arches much too dangerously.

Curving her lips into a smile, Sielaire clasps her hands on the table. "May I help you, Alwin, or did you just come in to smack my hands for working?"

"I believe a smack in the head would be more appropriate in this situation," Alwin replies, humour dancing in her flat tone. "But no. It is nearly noon, and I have to ensure you are properly fed with food and medicine."

"I am not a child, my dear."

"So I'd believed – until I saw your fever remedy left untouched on its tray."

"That was days ago, Alwin," Sielaire groans, slumping back in her chair. "And I merely forgot at the time."

"Proof that you need a reminder, at the very least." Alwin gestures towards the door. "Shall we? Or do I have to lure you out with crumbs on the floor?"

"Try cats," Sielaire replies, laughter dotting her voice as she finally relents, and rises from the chair.

Alwinarwe has always been an 'elder sister' figure to them – mostly to Ayrenn, who behaves like an unpredictable imp compared to her cousin, but it's not uncommon to find Alwin fretting over Sielaire from time to time. While Sielaire is loath to put more burden onto Alwin's shoulders, always providing prompt reassurance to voiced concerns, Sielaire has to admit that she _does_ find some enjoyment in their roles now. After years of being the protective older sister to two younger siblings, it is quite refreshing to be taken care of for once…and to finally have a delightful taste of vexing an older sister.

No wonder her own siblings give her so much headache, she thinks wryly to herself, as she leaves the room with Alwinarwe.

"Promise you won't tell Renn?" Sielaire asks, and gets flat glance in return.

"What is the point?" Alwin replies. "She already knew you'd do it before she left Alinor."

"It'll be fun to keep her guessing."

Alwin cocks a brow as they walk, then tilts her head with a thoughtful look. "Hm. I'll consider it."

* * *

True to her word, Ayrenn returns from Valenwood after a month – a notably shorter period of time, compared to the Empress' usual penchant for staying on the mainland longer, to visit and walk among her subjects, or travel around to soak in the views she'd missed. This time, she's passed up the opportunity to stretch her legs, and returns to the Summerset Isles where one person in particular longs for her the most.

By then, Sielaire's mostly recovered, save for a stubborn cough. But she hasn't quite shaken off the fever-wrought longing for her wife, and when she greets Ayrenn in the courtyard as always, she lifts her wife from the ground and spins in a circle, eliciting a hearty laugh which sets her heart dancing with delight. Ayrenn's hair is windswept from her short bout in the air, and Sielaire smooths over the blonde locks with her hands. Ayrenn smiles as Sielaire cups her face, and dips down to press a kiss to Ayrenn's lips, with the sun and sky as their witness – a luxury she's had for years, and forever will cherish.

"You're feeling better," Ayrenn croons with a smile, giving Sielaire one last peck before unwinding her arms from Sielaire's neck.

"I am now," Sielaire murmurs, catching Ayrenn's hands to steal a kiss on her knuckles. Their fingers entwine naturally as they turn to walk into the palace together. "How was everything?" Sielaire asks.

"Eh, nothing special. Same old issues…"

Ayrenn starts recounting offhandedly the topics discussed in the Thalmor meetings, which had been graced by King Camoran and Queen Khamira as well. Sielaire listens while Ayrenn speaks, tucking away bits of information into her mind, as her eyes drink in the sight of Ayrenn's perfect profile, bathed in the stark glow of the late afternoon sun. Sielaire's always found it amusing how any length of separation will always make her feel as if she were setting eyes on her wife for the first time, falling in love with that familiar visage over and over again.

It is well-known that this 'honeymoon' passion lasts much longer for the longer-lived races of Tamriel; and among the Altmer, whose marriages are often bonds forged from practicality, this truest sense of love is most exalted and coveted.

And, as Ayrenn's fingertips drift over her hand in unconscious caress, Sielaire wishes that this feeling would never leave her heart.


End file.
